BLAZE 
DERRINGER 

EUGENE-  P-LYLE-  JR. 


BLAZE  DERRINGER 


Chestnut-brown  eyes,    still   beautifully  heavy  from    sleep,    opened 
widely  on  them. — Frontispiece 

—BLAZE  DERRINGER 


Blaze  Derringer 


By  EUGENE  P.  LYLE,  JR. 


Author  of  "The  Missourian,"  "  The  Lone  Star,"  etc. 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


ALL  SIGHTS  RECEIVED,  INCLUDING  THAT  OF  TRANSLATION 

mro  roREiGN  LANGUAGES,  INCLUDING  THE  SCANDINAVIAN 

COPYRIGHT,  IQIO,  BY  DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 
PUBLISHED  JUNE,    IglO 


COUNTRY  JUJJE  PK-ES8,  GARDEN  CITY,  N.  Y. 


BLAZE  DERRINGER 


THE  PROLOGUE 

BLAZE    DERRINGER,    that   youth    of 
the  red  hair  and  freckled  eyelids  whose 
baby  name  was  Eddie,  left  college  at 
the  instigation  of  the  Faculty.     His  education 
began  soon  afterward. 

On  the  eve  of  departure  Eddie  tendered  a 
farewell  Carnival  of  Crime  to  his  three  chums, 
not  caring  now  how  often  his  landlady  irrevo- 
cably resolved,  shrilly,  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
that  he  must  find  other  rooms.  Naught,  in  con- 
sequence, bridled  the  joy  of  the  spread.  After 
nuts,  raisins,  ice  cream,  lady-fingers,  and  song, 
and  during  cigars  and  bottled  beer,  they  closed 
the  piano  and  settled  down  to  freeze-outs  until 
breakfast.  Then  young  Derringer  cashed  a 
final  sight  draft  on  his  father,  purchased  twenty 
pounds  in  tins  of  a  pungent  smoking  mixture 
unknown  to  Texas,  and  a  reserve  half-gross  of 
wonderful  collars  doubling  over  to  the  wish- 

s 


4  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

bone,  known  nowhere  beyond  the  frontier  of 
Collegedom.  Having  thus  transacted  all  affairs 
of  moment,  he  gave  his  books  away,  packed  a 
leather  trunk  and  silver-mounted  suit  case,  bade 
his  following  good-bye  from  the  platform  of  the 
buffet  car,  and  blithely  started  home  several 
thousand  miles  or  so  to  talk  it  over  with  his 
father. 

The  collegian  who  fell  heir  to  the  "Trig"  of 
the  departed  valued  that  battered  volume  most 
for  a  legend  purloined  from  Abraham  Lincoln 
and  inscribed  on  the  fly-leaf: 

Blaze  Derringer, 

His  hand,  his  pen, 
He  will  be  good, 

But  God  knows  when. 

The  legatee  showed  it  over  the  campus,  and 
there  were  smiles  in  the  day  of  mourning.  Prexy 
happened  along,  and  Prexy  saw  it,  and  twinkling- 
eyed  old  Prexy  made  queer  noises  into  his  beard. 
Who  now  would  abet  the  oversupply  of  Univer- 
sity gaiety?  Prexy  wished  that  Faculties  were 
not  so  sensitive. 


THE  PROLOGUE  5 

During  this  while  Blaze  Derringer  had  very 
nearly  crossed  the  nation  from  north  to  south. 
The  soft  Gulf  breeze  filtered  through  the 
screened  window  of  the  car  and  caressed  the 
red  locks  on  his  freckled  brow.  They  had 
stopped  for  water  at  a  familiar  siding.  And 
outside  there  blended  busy  noises  even  more 
familiar,  the  scurrying  of  hoofs,  shouts,  staccato 
profanity  and  the  whir  of  a  lariat.  That  last 
brought  a  pair  of  mild,  innocent  blue  eyes  to 
the  level  of  the  window.  Eddie  was  home.  He 
sat  up  straight.  The  hitching  post  and  roof  tree 
lay  off  a  dozen  miles  yet,  but  the  hoof-beaten 
prairie  out  here  —  here,  also,  was  home. 

A  herd  of  the  long-horned  was  being  rounded 
up  and  driven  through  a  pen  and  up  a  chute  into 
box  cars.  The  local  colour  of  the  scene  was 
saffron.  The  atmosphere  was  dust.  On  the 
off  landscape  lurked,  quiescent,  a  chain-tired 
automobile  of  enormous  horse-power.  And  yet 
the  sluggish,  potent,  modern  thing  of  luxury 
was  also  of  the  atmosphere,  also  of  the  landscape, 
acclimated,  digested,  assimilated,  as  integral  a 
part  of  Texas  as  the  dustiest  cow- pony  there. 


6  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

On  the  top  board  of  the  pen  stood  a  lone,  wire- 
fibred  man  in  linen  duster  and  slouch  hat;  a 
man  of  shaggy,  reddish-gray  brows  and  mus- 
tache, whose  eye  was  the  quiet  eye  of  the  master. 

When  Blaze  Derringer  in  the  Pullman  saw 
the  rugged  man  on  the  cattle  pen,  he  thrust  his 
cherry-wood  pipe  between  his  teeth,  caught  up 
his  silver-mounted  suit  case,  gave  the  porter  some 
dollar  bills,  and  swung  himself  off  into  the  saf- 
fron powder  of  Texas. 

The  rugged  man  noted  the  slim  and  trim 
young  figure  approaching,  first  because  it  was 
not  acclimated,  not  digested,  not  assimilated, 
and  lastly  because  he  recognized  his  own  prog- 
eny. The  expression  under  the  shaggy  brows 
was  whimsically  contemplative.  He  had  tackled 
problems  more  appalling  than  creased  trousers 
and  toothpick  shoes.  The  cowboys  on  swirling 
ponies  grinned,  and  watched  expectantly  to  see 
how  the  old  man  would  take  it. 

"Well,  Eddie?" 

Eddie  looked  up  and  smiled,  a  smile  charming 
and  ingenuous. 

"Playin*  hookey  again,  I  reckon?" 


THE  PROLOGUE  7 

Eddie  had  answered  that  question  many  times. 
He  felt  that  he  was  again  the  little  motherless 
chap  who  had  slipped  away  from  tutor  or  gov- 
erness to  find  his  father  and  ride  with  him,  but 
first  of  all  to  answer  that  old  familiar  question. 
He  was  as  little  dismayed  now.  Vaulting  to  the 
top  of  the  pen,  he  held  out  a  hand  as  freckled  as 
his  dad's.  "Howdy,  Chief." 

The  old  man  crunched  the  hand  hi  his  grip. 
"Well?" 

"  Why  —  well,  you  see,  Chief,  there  was  a 
little  difficulty  in  Freshman  math." 

The  Chief  did  not  see.  He  troubled  Eddie 
for  a  translation. 

"It's  trig,"  said  Eddie.  "You  know,  trig- 
onometry." 

"Oh,  thank  you;  but  explain  that  Freshman 
part.  I  was  sort  o*  under  the  impression  that 
this  was  your  second  year  up  there." 

"Yes,  sir;  but  I  flunked  last  year  hi  math." 

The  elder  Derringer  inquired  if  Eddie  would 
as  lief  back  up  into  the  dictionary. 

"Why,  I  was  conditioned,  that's  all,"  said 
Eddie. 


8  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"What  was  ailin'  ye?" 

"Pshaw,  dad,  I  simply  mean  that  I  failed  to 
pass." 

"Oh!"  This  was  the  old  man's  tone  when 
he  discharged  a  foreman. 

"But  you  see,"  placidly  interposed  the 
boy,  "I'd  been  knocking  his  eye  out  — 
the  tute's  —  the  tutor's  —  all  through  the 
semester." 

"  How's  that  ?  Knocked  somebody's  eye  out  ?" 
The  ejaculation  vibrated  with  hope. 

"  Not  literally,  dad,  but  —  uh  —  technically. 
That  is,  I  was  there  with  the  answer  whenever 
he  called  on  me." 

"Oh,  I  see."  The  old  man  realized  that  he 
had  expected  too  much.  One  should  not  look 
for  fighting  out  of  mere  clothes.  "  But  how's  it 
happen,  boy,  that  you  didn't  pass?" 

"Because,  dad,  I  bolted  the  exam.  Fact  is, 
I  forgot  the  date  of  their  old  exam,  and  went 
fishing." 

"With  bait?" 

"  Only  some  home-made  wine  at  a  farmhouse, 
sir." 


THE  PROLOGUE  9 

"  Catch  anything  ?  —  Here,"  said  the  old  man, 
"I'm  off  the  range.  What  I  want  to  know  is 
how  in  the  nation  all  this  accounts  for  your  bein* 
here  now?" 

:<  Well,  I  had  to  take  math  again,  and  the  exam 
was  coming  on  again,  and  when  the  tute  an- 
nounced it,  he  said  he  fervently  trusted  that 
there  would  be  no  more  subtle  mendacity  — 
like  to  have  that  translated,  sir?" 

"Go  on,  boy,  go  on!" 

"No  more  subtle  mendacity  concerning  the 
forgetting  to  remember  exam  dates." 

"Did  he  look  at  you  when  he  said  it?" 

"Right  at  me,  sir,  and  so  did  everybody  else." 

"Large  man,  Eddie?" 

"Fair  size." 

"Well  put  up?" 

"So-so.     He  spars  in  the  gym." 

"And  what "  The  question  hung  fire, 

tremulously.  " what  happened?" 

"An  uppercut,  sir." 

"Is  that  literal,  or  just  technical  again?" 

"As  literal  as  they  make  'em,  dad.  Straight 
to  the  point  of  the  chin." 


10  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"Now,  boy,  you're  talkin'  intelligible  lan- 
guage." 

The  cowboys  jerked  their  eddying  ponies,  and 
were  disappointed.  The  old  man  was  offering 
his  kid  a  cigar.  How  he  spoiled  the  little  dude ! 
It  was  the  old  man's  one  weak  streak. 

"Fightin',  eh?  — Have  a  light.  —  Fightin'  ?" 
The  reddish-gray  brows  were  bunched  together. 
"  Eddie,  d'y'  see  what's  happenin'  to  them  long- 
horns  down  there?  You  see  they're  bein' 
dehorned,  eh  ?  Well,  it's  because  they're  leavin' 
the  range  and  goin'  into  box  cars.  A  crowd  is 
no  place  for  long-horns,  Eddie,  and  Civilization 
is  a  crowd,  whether  it's  box  cars  or  college." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Don't  'yes,  sir'  me,  you  innocent-eyed  mav- 
erick. You  catch  my  drift,  all  right.  I  figgered 
that  college  would  breed  yours  off,  but  it  hasn't, 
so  I  reckon  it'll  have  to  be  dehornin'." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Stop  that,  I  say !  —  Now  I'm  thinkin'  that  the 
operation  might  as  well  begin  with  that  cute 
little  checkbook  you  study  so  hard." 

Even  yet  the  mild  blue  eyes  were  not  disturbed. 


THE  PROLOGUE  11 

The  checkbook  was  surrendered  without  an- 
guish, and  the  elder  Derringer,  turning  to  the  last 
stub,  was  not  astounded  to  find  the  account  over- 
drawn. 

"By  the  way,"  he  asked,  "don't  you  ever 
need  a  split  five  hundred?  Always  just  the 
five  hundred  or  a  thousand  ?  Seems  to  me 
you'd  make  it  seven-fifty,  sometime,  if  only 
to  stampede  the  monotony  of  it  for  your 
long-sufferin'  dad." 

The  boy  looked  hurt.  "Why,  Chief,"  he 
protested,  "I  always  spend  any  odd  change 
left  over,  don't  I?" 

"Odd  change?  Odd  change!  Let  me  see, 
what  went  with  that  last  remittance,  f'r 
instance?" 

"Poker,  most  likely." 

"  Poker  ?  By  the  great  hornspoon,  I  thought 
you  knew  the  game!  How'd  you  come  to 
lose?" 

"I  didn't.  But  at  the  wind-up  one  of  the 
crowd  couldn't  pay  me  just  then." 

"  While  you  paid  what  you  owed  ?" 

"Yes,  and  that  left  me  nothing  for  my  board 


12  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

bill.  So  I  had  to  draw  on  you  again.  Board 
has  to  be  paid,  too,  you  know." 

"Of  course,  though  some  think  different." 

"And  I  still  owe  a  garage  bill.  You  don't 
seem  to  realize,  Chief,  that  there's  lots  of 
expenses  about  a  schooling." 

"Still,  I'm  tryin'  to,  Eddie,  I'm  tryin'  to." 
In  the  Chief,  humility  like  this  was  peril  itself. 
"But,"  and  persiflage  came  to  an  end,  "what 
do  you  p'pose  to  do  now?" 

Two  eyes  of  blue  opened  wide.  "I  hadn't 
thought " 

"Hadn't  thought?" 

"Oh,  I  have  it,  Chief.  Why  not  let  me 
work?"  It  was  the  one  novelty  the  boy  could 
think  of. 

"Oh,  pshaw!"  The  hustle  and  vim  of  the 
outfit  were  in  their  ears.  It  would  be  a  long, 
long  life  for  the  old  man's  untamed  year- 
ling. "Pshaw,  boy,  you've  got  heaps  o'  time 
for  that  yet,  and  you  surely  haven't  got  enough 
education  this  quick.  Travel,  now  "  the  old 
cattleman  added  coaxingly,  "travel,  that's  edu- 
cation, too,  you  know." 


13 

"But,  Chief,  how  about  your  dehorning 
proposition?" 

Impulsively  the  Chief  held  out  the  checkbook; 
then  a  second  impulse  withheld  it. 

"Look  here,  Eddie,  you're  goin'  to  travel  all 
right,"  he  said,  "but  I'm  goin'  to  see  that  the 
education  gets  blended  in.  There'll  be  only 
one  little  lesson,  one  mighty  hard  one,  and 
you've  got  to  learn  it  by  heart.  You've  got  to 
learn,  my  boy,  that  there  isn't  any  such  thing  as 
odd  change.  Each  time  you  go  broke,  you'll 
learn  it,  and  when  you're  flush,  you'll  plum  for- 
get it.  So  'flush'  will  be  your  play  hour,  and 
*  broke'  will  be  your  study  hour.  And  it's  not 
goin'  to  be  all  play,  either,  for  I  mean  to  give 
you  only  —  let  me  see  —  well,  five  thousand  dol- 
lars, say." 

The  red  blood  of  youth  illumined  Blaze  Der- 
ringer's freckles. 

"Oh,  don't  think  I'm  close,"  said  his  father, 
"for  I'll  be  generous  in  another  way.  I'm  goin' 
to  give  you  plenty  o'  time  to  spend  it  in.  How 
would  two  years  strike  you?" 

"Uh  — but " 


14  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

"No,  sir,  not  a  day  more.  And  mind,  boy, 
you'd  better  start  your  education  with  the  very 
first  dollar.  The  more  small  change,  and  less 
odd  change,  you  find  in  that  top  dollar,  the  longer 
you'll  be  gettin'  down  to  the  bottom  one." 

Young  Derringer  looked  bored.  Then  sud- 
denly the  lids  lifted  over  dilating  eyes.  "I  tell 
you  what,  Chief,  what  if  I  bring  that  much  back 
with  me?" 

The  old  man  stared. 

"If  you  do,  boy,"  he  exclaimed,  "if  you  do, 
I'll  go  you  better.  I'll— I'll  just  add  two 
ciphers  to  it  when  you  come  back.  Then  that 
will  be  enough  for  you  to  go  to  work  with." 

"All  right,"  said  Eddie  promptly,  "it's  a  bet. 
But,"  and  he  hesitated,  "but  you  won't  start  me 
off  right  away,  will  you?  I  want  some  vaca- 
tion, you  know." 

The  Chief's  countenance  brightened. 

"I  mean,"  said  the  boy,  "I  want  to  spend  the 
summer  round  here  on  the  ranch  with  you,  same 
as  usual."  He  glanced  over  at  the  dusty  auto- 
mobile of  tremendous  horse-power.  "That  the 
same  old  ice  wagon  you  had  last  summer?" 


THE  PROLOGUE  15 

" Jehoshaphat,  no!  It's  the  third.  Come 
along.  We'll  be  goin'  home." 

The  next  fall,  as  per  the  Chief's  conditions, 
Blaze  Derringer  started  on  his  travels.  He  was 
to  draw  on  his  father  at  will,  to  the  limit  of  five 
thousand  dollars.  His  first  sight  draft,  cashed 
in  New  Orleans  two  days  after  leaving  home, 
was  for  five  thousand  dollars. 

Then  he  took  a  ship  for  somewhere. 


CHAPTER  ONE 

ONE  Cornelius  Slag  would  have  been 
graspingly  welcomed  within  her  bor- 
ders by  the  hospitable  Republic  of 
Mexico.  This  was  because  Mr.  Slag  had  lately 
deprived  the  Republica  of  a  guest  she  already 
had,  for  Mr.  Slag  was  something  in  the  way  of 
being  a  jailbreaker.  He  liked  to  get  out  of 
jail  pretty  well  himself,  though  he  mostly  kept 
out,  and  he  liked  nearly  as  well  to  get  a  fel- 
low American  out.  This  last  time,  though,  was 
a  closer  call  than  usual,  and  Cornelius  Slag,  not 
being  consecutively  strong  on  insomnia,  had 
utilized  the  very  first  possible  night  to  getting 
out  of  the  country  altogether. 

"Naw,  'tain't  so  much,'*  he  was  saying  among 
friends  in  the  Thirsty  Switchman's  Solace  at 
Galveston  a  few  days  later.  These  friends 
were  disposed  to  comment  on  his  exploit,  for  it 
had  been  in  the  papers  and  their  Con  Slag  was 

16 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  17 

notorious,  but  the  returned  hero  swaggered 
roughshod  over  the  awed  plaudits  of  mere  lay- 
men. A  ravenous  ogre  feels  the  same  on  being 
tendered  a  sandwich  of  caviar.  Perceiving  that 
the  morsel  was  not  a  bullock,  our  ogre  was 
haughty  and  disdainful.  'Tain't  hardly 
nothin'."  He  pushed  his  glass  from  him  with 
a  hairy  hand,  and  scowled  at  his  admirers  round 
the  moist  table.  "Not  for  a  man  that  knows 
how,  'tain't." 

"  Aw,  Con,"  growled  one  friend  meekly,  "don't 
be  gittin'  so  durn  modest." 

"Modest  polecats!  Ye  see,  Jim  'ad  only  sat 
on  a  Greaser  p'lice  one  paynight,  an'  the  'dobe 
wall  round  Jim  an  hour  later  was  easy  diggin'. 
'Twan't  like  as  if  Jim  was  a  rev'lutionary,  an* 
they'd  salted  him  down  for  keeps.  Why,  if  he 
was,  there'd  been  need  o'  what  I'd  call  real  high- 
grade  jug-crackin',  like  you  mere  railroadin' 
dubs  'ud  no  more  rise  to  than  a  mud  eel  to  a 
chocolate  drop.  But,"  and  Mr.  Slag  leered  at 
them  darkly,  "but  mebbe  there  is  such  a  case, 
an'  mebbe  it's  somewhere  down  in  South 
America,  an'  just  mebbe  it's  a  rich  would-V- 


18  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

been  em'prer  who'd  cough  up  a  crate  o'  some- 
thin'  that  ain't  doughnuts  to  the  right  man  be- 
hind the  crowbar.  'Cordin'  to  Jenkins " 

He  paused,  and  forgot,  for  the  slatted  doors 
of  the  place  burst  open,  revealing  a  glimpse  of 
scorched  cedars  in  green  tubs  outside,  and  a 
cool  young  stranger  entered,  whistling  softly. 
"Would  you,"  pleaded  Mr.  Slag,  "would  you 
look  at  that?" 

The  young  stranger  was  breezily  attired  — 
shirt  of  lawn  and  a  belt,  crisp  straw  hat  with  cord 
attachment,  blue  serge  coat  with  glove  tips 
peeping  from  the  breast  pocket,  flannel  trousers 
turned  up,  and  low  shoes  of  white  duck.  Here 
was  one  unique  intrusion  on  the  sawdust  floor 
of  the  Thirsty  Switchman's.  Like  a  cinder  in 
the  eye,  it  was  a  foreign  substance.  The  unique 
intrusion  glanced  around  sociably.  The  young 
man  perceived  that  he  was  in  a  grog  shop,  which 
was  the  essential  thing.  The  particular  species 
of  grog  shop  mattered  not  at  all.  He  was 
blandly  at  his  ease.  Had  any  one  called  him  a 
foreign  substance,  he  would  not  have  under- 
stood. 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  19 

Hooking  an  elbow  over  the  foam-bedewed 
bar,  he  said:  "Creme  de  menthe,  please." 

The  surly  Ganymede  in  rolled-up  sleeves 
behind  the  bar  glared  unsteadily.  Groans  sim- 
ulating anguish  rose  from  the  table  where  sat 
Mr.  Slag  and  friends.  The  young  man  turned 
on  them  in  mild,  blue-eyed  inquiry.  He  pushed 
back  the  straw  hat,  revealing  red  hair  parted  in 
the  middle,  and  touched  his  brow  with  a  bor- 
dered handkerchief. 

"I  guess,"  said  Ganymede,  "that  what  you 
want  is  cream  soda." 

"Oh,  no,  not  at  all.  And  I  do  not  want 
creme  de  menthe,  either." 

"That's  what  you  asked  for." 

"True,  I  did,  but  in  a  thirst  for  information 
solely." 

"  Well,  we  ain't  got  any,  see  ?" 

"Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you  so  much.  You 
see,  pard,  it's  this  way :  I've  gone  and  drawn  up 
a  protocol  with  myself,  according  to  which,  pend- 
ing a  will  power  unfortunately  not  at  present 
available,  I  am  to  take  nothing  stronger  where 
creme  de  menthe  is  to  be  had.  —  Well,  I'd  rather 


20  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

thought  I'd  come  to  the  right  shop,  so  giye  m« 
red-eye." 

A  bottle  and  glass  were  slammed  upon  the  bar. 

"And,"  pleasantly  chirruped  the  young  man, 
"have  one  yourself,  angel  child." 

"Oh,  I'll  take  a  cigar." 

Con  Slag  resented  so  much  of  diversion  from 
himself.  "  Aw,  somebody  please  trun'  him  home 
to  his  mumma,"  he  growled.  That  reclaimed 
the  convivial  board.  It  belonged  again  to  Mr. 
Slag. 

After  a  little  a  voice  from  the  table  went  up  in 
protest.  "  Aw,  come  now,  Con,  you  don't  mean 
you'd  git  a  million  for  the  job  ?" 

"An*  why  not,"  demanded  Slag,  "the  same 
as  a  big  lawyer  or  a  big  doctor  ?  They  plug  for 
big  fees,  don't  they  ?  An'  what  for  ?  Why,  to 
git  people  out  of  fixes.  Well,  now,  'sposin'  you 
was  in  jail,  an'  you  had  ten  dollars,  wouldn't  you 
give  one  of  'em  to  git  out?  All  right,  then. 
Well,  my  would-'a'-been  em'prer,  he's  got  his 
ten  million,  even  'lowin'  for  Sylvanlitlan  money 
bein'  less'n  Mexican  'dobes." 

"Oh,  I  —  don't  —  know." 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  21 

The  refrain  broke  over  them  mockingly.  They 
looked  up,  and  their  scowls  met  the  friendly  gaze 
of  the  young  stranger.  Slag  twisted  in  his  chair. 

"  Why,  you  pesky  little  red-headed  buzzard, 
you,  git  on  away  from  here." 

The  freckled  eyelids  and  sandy  lashes  of  the 
young  fellow  lifted,  and  the  pupils  of  two  mild 
blue  eyes  grew  as  though  suddenly  exposed  to 
the  light.  This  was  vaguely  disconcerting.  In 
one  so  youthful  it  spoke  almost  uncannily  of 
worldly  experience  and  adventure.  A  shrewder 
observer  than  Mr.  Slag  would  have  appraised 
the  interloper  more  warily. 

"G'wan  now,  kid.     G'wan,  trot!"  said  Slag. 

Good-humouredly  the  young  man  beckoned 
to  the  bartender.  "I  say,"  he  said  to  Slag, 
"prescribe  for  that  disposition  of  vours,  and  I'll 
pay." 

All  but  Slag  were  instantly  mollified. 

"Take  the  same,  Con?"  asked  one. 

There  were  mumbling  sounds  in  the  negative. 

"Then,"  the  young  man  himself  suggested, 
*'take  two  of  the  same,  Cornelius." 

Slag  knocked  back  his  chair,  got  to  his  feet, 


and  started  in  to  curse  like  a  viking.  The  young 
man  smiled  on  him  affably,  and  held  out  a  hand. 
Slag  seized  the  hand,  to  wring  the  arm  from  its 
socket;  but  a  pain  shot  up  his  wrist,  and  to 
make  concessions  to  the  twisting  of  the  wrist, 
he  dropped  back  into  his  chair.  His  face  worked. 
Distortions  creased  the  stubble  growth  there. 
He  drew  back  his  free  hand  for  a  sledge-hammer 
sweep,  and  only  in  good  time  his  friends  pinned 
it  to  the  table. 

"Two  of  the  same,  Cornelius?"  repeated  the 
young  man. 

"  Gawd  A'mighty,"said  Slag,  "  I'd  be  glad  to." 

Whereupon  the  vise  opened,  and  Slag  gazed 
ruefully  at  his  blue  fingers,  then  wonderingly  at 
the  youngster.  "Say,  flare-top,"  he  exclaimed 
heartily,  "  'spose  me  an'  you  shake  hands 
proper?" 

So  everybody  cordially  made  room  for  the 
newcomer.  Even  Ganymede  unbent. 

They  were  on  the  second  round.  "  Now,"  said 
Slag,  but  with  a  certain  cautious  deference,  "  do 
you  mind  tellin'  us,  kid,  what  it  was  that  you 
don't  know?" 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  23 

"Cornelius,"  the  young  man  rebuked  him 
gently,  "you  are  asking  years  out  of  my  life." 

"I  mean,  about  jailbreakin'  down  in  Sylvan- 
litlan?" 

"Oh,  that!  Well,  how  could  I  know  how 
you'd  get  a  man  out  who  is  already  out  ?" 

"Out!     How'dhe " 

"He  would  be  out  if  he's  dead,  wouldn't  he  ?" 

"Yes." 

"At  least,  out  of  prison  ?  " 

:<Yes,  o'  course." 

"Well,  then?" 

Which  was  so  palpably  the  last  word  that  they 
let  it  be  the  last.  Afterward  they  talked  rail- 
roading, though  Slag  sat  silent,  moodily  eclipsed. 
Finally  the  young  stranger  yawned  and  rose. 
"  Going  up  or  down  town,  Cornelius  ?"  he  asked. 

Cornelius  had  not  thought  of  going  at  all,  but 
he  roused  himself  and  looked  narrowly  at  the 
young  man.  "Any  old  way,"  he  said.  "Come 
on." 

The  slatted  doors  closed  behind  them. 

"Look  here,"  demanded  Slag,  "what  in 
thunder  do  you  want,  anyhow?" 


24 

"To  talk  about  Sylvanlitlan.  Pretty  country, 
I've  heard.  Mountains,  flowers,  revolutions, 
black-eyed  girls.  Very  interesting,  don't  you 
think?" 

"Aw,  what's  the  use  ?    You  said  he  was  dead.'* 

"Oh,  Cornelius,  no,  I  didn't." 

"You  said  as  much,  anyway." 

"Did  I?  Also,  old  top,  wasn't  I  immeasur- 
ably shocked?  Really,  Cornelius,  you  do  talk 
so  much  when  your  mouth  is  open.  It's  — 
it's  emptying,  Cornelius." 

"So  you  spiked  the  rail,  eh  ?  Didn't  want  me 
to  give  it  all  away,  eh  ?  Look  here,  kid,  who  are 
you?" 

"I?  Oh,  I'm  a  poor  but  honest  young  man 
inquiring  around  for  five  thousand  dollars. 
Suppose  we  go  somewhere  and  talk  over  the 
details?" 

"Come  on,  then,"  Slag  agreed.  "Talkin* 
won't  hurt  none." 


CHAPTER  TWO 

MR.  SLAG  perceived  that  he  was  being 
enmeshed  in  a  conspiracy  that  was 
darksome.  The  key  to  mystery  is 
often  the  bludgeon  that  mind  wields  over  large 
matter,  and  the  huge  jailbreaker  shuffled  along 
like  a  faithful  mastiff.  They  came  to  the  docks, 
and  the  jaunty  youngster  sat  on  the  edge  and 
dangled  his  feet  over  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  This 
was  his  manner  with  big  things.  Slag  followed 
suit. 

The  young  man  took  a  pipe  of  French  clay 
from  its  case,  fitted  stem  and  bowl  together,  and 
filled  it  from  a  velvet  pouch.  He  might  have 
been  settling  down  to  a  care-free  afternoon  of 
fishing. 

"Hey,  now,  cull,"  Slag  burst  forth,  "start 
this!  What?" 

"Why,  "  said  the  other,  "I  was  waiting  for 

you." 

u 


26  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"Ever  down  in  Sylvanlitlan  ?" 

"Not  quite.     South  America  being  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  sack,  I  haven't  got  to  her  yet." 

"Then  how  the  blazes  do  you  know  so  much 
about  my  would-'a'-been  em'prer?" 

"By  absorption,  Cornelius,  by  absorption. 
Like  a  sponge,  you  know.  We  will  pause  and 
prayerfully  consider.  Here  you  are,  for  example, 
and  you  know  about  George  Washington,  also 
about  William  the  Conqueror,  and  yet  you've 
never  once  married  into  the  family  or  borrowed 
money  from  them.  —  Am  I  right  ?  Thank  you. 
—  Let  us  examine  further.  First,  William  the 
Conqueror,  though  reputed  a  scholar  of  grasp- 
ing research,  knew  nothing,  absolutely  nothing, 
about  George  Washington.  Ignorance  like  that 
is  almost  incredible.  Yet  George,  for  his  part, 
knew  considerable  about  Will.  This  is  one  of 
the  vexatious  puzzles  of  history,  Cornelius.  — 
Second,  we  may,  on  the  other  hand,  without  fear 
of  successful  contradiction,  venture  to  assert 
that  both  Will  and  George  lived  their  whole 
benighted  lives  through  without  one  iota  of 
information  about  Cornelius  Slag,  whereas " 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  27 

"Stop  it!    I  —  I  think  I'm  goin'  batty." 

The  young  man  looked  apprehensive.  "I'm 
afraid  my  diction  is  slightly  involved.  But  we 
will  go  over  it  again,  very  slowly,  and  per- 
haps   " 

"No,  no,  for  the  love  of " 

"Oh,  all  right. — So  it  was  this  way:  If 
you  drive  out  anybody,  you  get  into  history.  — 
Will  and  George,  for  instance.  —  Also,  you 
sometimes  get  a  situation.  This  is,  according 
to  the  ancients,  a  reduction  of  glory  to  the 
practical.  Hence  Will  and " 

"For  Gawd's  sake!" 

"Hence  likewise  there  was  Don  Pedro  de 
Las  Augustias  down  in  Sylvanlitlan.  Don  Pedro, 
you  know,  drove  out  the  Spanish  and  got  a 
position  as  emperor.  That  is,  until  his  demise, 
you  understand.  Then  Don  Somebody  Else 
swooped  down  from  the  Andes  and  drove  out 
Don  Pedro's  son.  Which  made  an  opening 
for  a  constitution,  only  this  Don  Somebody  Else 
filled  the  opening  himself,  and  since  then  they've 
been  having  openings  continual  down  in  Sylvan- 
litlan. Am  I  right,  as  usual?" 


28  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

"I  dunno,  but  what  I  do  want  to  know  is, 
where  do  we  get  on?" 

"Probably  not  at  all. — To  proceed:  Don 
Pedro's  son  took  after  his  father  in  that  he  also 
had  a  son,  and  this  family  trait  very  curiously 
persisting,  it  so  happens  that  there  is  a  Don 
Pedro  down  there  to-day,  and  he " 

"And  he's  the  one  that's  in  hock?" 

"You  win,  Cornelius,  for  this  latest  Don 
Pedro  is  your  emperor  who  would  have  been, 
but  didn't  quite.  He  tried  to  drive  somebody 
out,  and  now  he  hasn't  any  situation.  This  is 
termed  a  reduction  of  the  unpractical  to  ignom- 
iny. I  supposed  the  president  down  there  had 
him  shot  months  ago,  but  only  last  night  an  old 
sea-captain  who  touches  at  Puertocito  was 
yarning  about  Don  Pedro  being  locked  up, 
and  everybody  so  sorry/* 

"That's  correct,"  said  Slag,  "an*  the  president 
is  go  in'  to  keep  him  locked  up,  till  he  finds  out 
where  he's  hidden  the  swag." 

The  freckled  eyelids  of  the  young  man  lifted. 
"What  swag?" 

"  'Cordin'  to  Jenkins,  it's  what  this  here  Don 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  29 

Pedro  scraped  together  for  his  rev'lution  by 
cashin'  in  his  mines  an'  haciendas.  But  the 
rev'lution  got  nipped  cold,  an',  'cordin'  to 
Jenkins,  it's  buried  somewhere." 

"Exactly  who  is  'Cordin'  to  Jenkins?" 

"Jenkins?  Oh,  me  an'  him  railroaded 
together  out  o'  Monterey,  but  one  night  he  tried 
to  keep  me  from  spillin'  my  Mexican  fireman 
with  a  shovel  —  said  it  wasn't  fair  as  the  Mexican 
only  had  a  knife  —  an'  I  skipped,  an'  Jenkins 
was  pinched,  an'  I  had  to  come  back  and  git 
him  out.  Never  heard  of  him  since,  till  the 
other  day,  when  this  letter  followed  me  up  from 
Mexico.  He's  in  Sylvanlitlan.  Says  he's  runnin* 
passenger  from  Puertocito  on  the  coast  up  to 
Constanza  de  la  Paz  in  the  mountins.  Says  if 
I  can  git  this  Don  Pedro  disturber  out  o'  the 
rock  pile,  he  can  railroad  him  on  down  to  the 
coast  to  a  ship." 

"Nice  man,  Jenkins.  What  does  he  say 
it's  worth?" 

"What's  what  worth?" 

"Why,  the  getting-out  of  Don  Pedro,  of 
course." 


30  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

For  a  moment  Slag  blankly  considered  his 
young  companion.  "A  hundred  thousand 
gold,  'cordin'  to  Jenkins,"  he  said.  "Jenkins 
has  got  the  em'prer's  promissory,  C.  O.  D.,  he 
says.  Em'prer's  a  stiff-neck,  hotty  old  gobble- 
gobble,  I  guess,  but  he  seems  to  have  a  daughter 
who  can  talk  business,  an'  Jenkins  done  it 
through  her.  Then  Jenkins,  he  wrote  to  me 
to  come  on  an'  handle  the  job." 

A  hundred  thousand !  The  pupils  of  the  blue 
eyes  grew. 

"Old  top,  let's  do  it!" 

Slag  looked  from  the  white  shoes  dangling 
over  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  into  the  blue  eyes. 
"The  nerve  of  him!"  he  murmured. 

"But  maybe  this  is  your  rush  season,  Corne- 
lius? Crowded  with  advance  orders,  per- 
haps ?" 

Hope  that  was  faint  diffused  the  jailbreaker's 
leering  visage.  "  We  might  let  you  grubstake 
the  expedition,"  he  conceded. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  the  young  man  airily 
agreed.  "I  landed  here  the  other  day  from 
Barcelona  with  fifty  dollars.  But,"  he  casually 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  31 

explained,  "I  need  five  thousand  to  take  me 
on  home." 

An  oath  of  size  burst  from  Cornelius.  '  Why, 
where'n  fire  an'  smoke  is  your  home?" 

"Here  on  the  Gulf.     Over  at  Derringer." 

"  An*  you  need  five  thou  —  Oh,  your  grand- 
mother, kid,  you  could  walk  it  in  a  week." 

"No,  Cornelius,  you're  mixed.  There's 
neither  riding  nor  walking  short  of  the  five 
thousand.  And  time's  up  this  fall." 

He  seemed  quite  sound.  There  was  no  dope 
in  those  clear  eyes.  Slag  simply  passed  him 
on  to  insoluble  problems,  and  stumbled  back  to 
the  tangible. 

"But,  say,  your  little  fifty  ain't  goin*  to  pay 
any  fare  to  Sylvanlitlan." 

"True,  pity  'tis,  but  you  see,  I  doubled  it 
twice  bucking  the  tiger." 

"  Eh,  what  ?     Let's  see  the  coin." 

"Of  course,"  said  the  young  man,  "when  a 
man's  sick,  he's  not  well.  I  lost  it  last  night. 
Game  of  poker  at  the  hotel." 

The  jail  breaker  groaned. 

"There,  there,  Cornelius,"  soothingly  spoke 


32  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

his  companion,   "you'll   make  your  eyes  red. 
Have  you  got  twenty -five  dollars?" 

"S'posin'Ihave?" 

"  Bank  it  with  me.     Draw  interest." 

Cornelius  demurred. 

"Capital  is  timid,  I  see,"  observed  the  youth. 
"But  that's  all  right,  I  have  collateral. 
Here's  my  watch." 

"  What's  the  lay  ?     What  you  goin'  to  do  ?  " 

"Another  game  to-night,  maybe.  Old  sea 
captain  I  mentioned  a  minute  ago  —  he  sails 
to-morrow,  touches  at  Puertocito  —  and  very 
nice  Spanish-speaking  gentleman.  Nice  Spanish- 
speaking  gentleman  plays  —  well." 

'Yes,  an'  he'll  clean  you  up  again,  too." 

The  freckled  eyelids  narrowed  reflectively. 
"Oh,  I  don't  know." 

Slag  stirred  reminiscently.  He  had  confi- 
dence in  that  refrain.  Besides,  the  watch  was 
worth  it,  and  twenty-five  dollars  changed  hands. 

"  You  think  you  can  ?  "     Slag  asked  anxiously. 

"Yes,  I  think  I  can.  Call  around  for  me  at 
the  hotel  to-morrow  and  we'll  sail  with  the  old 
sea  captain  to  Sylvanlitlan." 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  33 

"What  name  do  I  ask  for?" 

"Name  of  Derringer.  And  now,  shepherdess 
coy  and  fair,  au  revoir." 

Cornelius  Slag  sat  in  a  daze,  and  gazed  after 
him.  Cornelius  might  quite  as  well  have  been 
struck  on  the  head,  for  when  you  are  struck 
on  the  head,  you  are  out  of  adjustment  with 
the  universe. 

"I  wonder,"  pondered  Cornelius,  "I  wonder 
if  it's  because  I  ain't  had  education.  He's 
somethin'  I  don't  seem  quite  up  on,  somehow." 


SO  BLAZE  DERRINGER,  baby  name 
of  Eddie,  had  returned  from  his  travels. 
So,  also,  he  was  virtually  penniless.  That 
was  to  be  expected.  And  he  was  as  incorrigible, 
as  improvident  a  spendthrift  as  ever.  He  had 
discovered  —  and  was  not  in  the  least  surprised, 
either  —  that  it  was  nearly  as  safe  to  trust  to 
his  wits  for  more  money  as  formerly  to  the 
efficacy  of  sight  drafts  on  an  indulgent  father. 
The  initial  financing  of  his  wanderings  by  the 
Chief  had  quite  simply  inspired  his  spendthrift 
genius  to  greater  vagaries  of  impulse,  and  he 
had  scattered  dollars  blithely  over  the  continents 
without  help  or  interpreter. 

Six  months  saw  the  end  of  that.  Since  then 
there  was  more  zest  to  adventure,  as  well  as 
remorseless  incentive.  He  neither  begged,  nor 
stole,  nor  cheated,  yet  he  had  not  suffered.  This 
was  because  worry  could  not  fasten  on  his  heart  of 

84 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  35 

youth.  His  stomach,  indeed,  had  at  times  fed  on 
that  heart,  lacking  aught  else,  but  in  good  season 
Youth  always  found  replenishment  for  both. 

Again  in  Texas,  here  he  was,  yet  with  no 
thought  of  returning  to  his  father's  home.  A 
score  of  weeks  were  still  left  him  for  the  gathering 
together  of  five  thousand  dollars.  But  when 
he  entered  his  hotel  with  Mr.  Slag's  twenty-five 
dollars  in  pocket,  he  owned  not  the  wherewith 
to  meet  the  bill  for  board,  lodging,  and  sundries 
that  had  accrued  against  him  during  the  past 
three  days.  He  was  going  his  dissolute  way 
headlong  to  the  hotel  bar  when  he  met  an 
acquaintance. 

'Yes,  indeed,  Major-General,"  he  said  in 
reply  to  the  other's  greeting,  "the  day  is  pleasant. 
A  way  with  days  and  nights,  sir.  By  the  bye, 
General,  how  about  assembling  again  to-night  ?" 

The  tanned  and  happy  old  Southern  type  of 
gentleman  whom  he  addressed  might  have  been 
a  major-general  because  of  a  white  military 
mustache,  so  Blaze  Derringer  had  made  him 
one.  He  was  really  good  old  Ben  Blackburn, 
skipper  of  the  Leviathan,  and  the  Leviathan  was 


36  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

a  daring  wee  bit  of  a  thousand-ton  G.  &  C.  liner 
in  the  West  Indies  trade  between  Galveston  and 
Trinidad.  Captain  Ben  confessed  her  official 
name  grudgingly,  and  only  when  formality 
required.  For  him  "Leviathan"  had  no  more 
significance  than  a  number,  given  her  for  con- 
venience of  registration  and  because  the  Gulf 
&  Caribbean  people  intemperately  exacted  that 
every  tub  of  the  line  should  begin  with  the  letter 
"L,"  letting  wind  and  weather  against  seaman- 
ship prescribe  where  she  might  end. 

"Could  have  called  her  the  Lollipop,  cert'nly, 
sir,  just  as  well,"  Captain  Ben  would  say. 
"But  for  me,  privately  —  do  you  understand 
me,  sir  ?  —  she's  the  Southland,  and  never  any- 
thing but  the  Southland" 

And  by  that  name,  privately,  understand,  she 
was  known  at  every  port  she  touched  because 
of  her  skipper's  quaint  insistence.  "Leviathan" 
was  reserved  for  bills  of  lading,  and  therefore 
Captain  Ben  frowned  when  he  handled  bills  of 
lading. 

"Do  we  assemble,  sir?"  he  repeated  cheerily 
after  Derringer.  "Why,  young  man,  with 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  37 

pleasure.  For  to  assemble  is  life,  sir.  It  is 
humanity,  and  the  best  of  philosophy.  I'd 
assemble  often,  understand;  only,"  he  added 
with  a  chuckle,  "it  takes  more  than  just  one 
person  to  do  it,  sir."  Whereat  he  opened  his 
mouth,  and  a  gale  of  mirth  startled  the  lobby. 
Be  his  joke  whatsoever,  his  appreciation  of  it 
was  not  to  be  resisted.  Men  looked  around, 
and  began  laughing  also.  "It's  Captain  Ben," 
they  told  one  another  in  far-away  corners. 

"Nevertheless,"  Derringer  gravely  objected, 
"one  less  than  two  can't  assemble,  either,  you 
know.  Nor  can  two  less  than  three.  Hence, 
Major- General,  there'll  be  more  substantially 
an  assembling,  and  more  life,  humanity,  and 
philosophy,  not  to  mention  Gehenna,  if  we 
round  up  the  third  man,  don't  you  think?" 

Once,  twice,  and  a  third  time,  the  skipper 
opened  his  mouth  preparatory  to  blowing  a 
gale,  yet  each  time  he  closed  it.  He  was  uncer- 
tain. There  was  a  chance  that  the  serious 
young  man  did  not  mean  a  joke.  Yet  it  sounded 
like  joking.  A  very  undecipherable  young  man, 
thought  Captain  Ben. 


38  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

"That  passenger  of  mine  who  played  with  us 
last  night  —  Colonel  Morder,  remember  ?  —  we 
might  get  him.  By  the  Lady  Harriet,"  said 
Captain  Ben,  "didn't  he  have  luck?  Wow!" 

The  young  Texan  regarded  the  innocent  old 
sailor  for  a  moment,  and  agreed  with  him.  — 
"Lack  of  suspicion,  sharper's  luck."  —  But  he 
did  not  say  it  aloud. 

The  three,  including  the  Colonel  Morder 
mentioned,  gathered  that  evening  in  the  parlour 
of  Derringer's  apartment.  Of  this  Colonel 
Morder  the  title,  hue,  gentility,  dignity  and 
urbanity,  were  Spanish  American.  His  ideas 
about  poker  were  his  own.  He  believed  that 
they  were  American,  and,  as  with  his  use  of 
English,  he  trusted  that  they  were  guiltless  of  alien 
flavour.  He  had,  indeed,  travelled  enough  for 
fluency,  which  left  him  with  but  a  slightly  studied 
manner  of  enunciation.  He  spoke  low  usually, 
and  his  deep  voice  was  soft,  like  the  feel  of  velvet. 
Contrasting,  and  yet  really  not  contrasting, 
the  man's  profile  was  harshly,  boldly  carved; 
brow,  nose  and  chin,  all  three.  His  jet  mustache 
bristled.  His  black  eyes  and  sombre  presence 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  39 

were  domineering.  Yet  his  manner  —  well,  no 
manners  could  be  more  affably  courteous.  Der- 
ringer honestly  meant  a  compliment  in  christen- 
ing him  The  Biigand. 

A  fourth  prison  was  requisite  to  the  assem- 
bling, though  <mly  a  negro  waiter  on  detached 
service  for  the  evening.  Young  Mr.  Derringer's 
hospitality  flowed  generously,  and  the  session  of 
playing  at  rards  merits  consideration. 

In  the  beginning  Colonel  Morder  stood  at  his 
chair,  and  smiled  and  bowed  imploringly,  and 
would  under  no  consideration  be  seated  until 
after  the  others. 

"The  table  stakes,  is  it  not,  gentlemen,  as 
last  night?"  he  queried. 

"If  the  table  will  hold  them,"  said  Derringer, 
passing  'over  Mr.  Slag's  twenty-five  dollars  to 
Captain  Ben  Blackburn,  banker,  for  an  equiva- 
lent in  white  and  red  chips. 

Colonel  Morder,  noting  the  sum,  was  too 
polite  Ao  make  comment.  Very  modestly  he 
unfurled  one  hundred  dollars  in  bills,  begged  the 
favour  of  whites  and  blues,  and  laid  hope  to  his 
liat  the  example  would  shortly  be  imitated. 


40  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

"Cut  for  deal,"  said  Derringer.  "Low  deals. 
Ace  is  low." 

They  cut,  and  Derringer  won  with  a  seven. 
"If  you  don't  mind,"  he  suggested,  "let's  try 
it  again." 

As  nobody  minded,  they  cut  again.  Morder 
turned  up  a  jack,  and  the  skipper  a  deuce. 
Derringer  had  not  looked  at  his  card.  "  Mine 
will  probably  be  the  ace  of  diamonds,"  he  said; 
then  threw  the  card  on  the  table  face  up.  It 
was  the  ace  of  diamonds. 

The  skipper  blinked.  Urbane  Colonel  Mor- 
der studied  his  host. 

"Anybody  want  to  try  it  again?"  inquired 
Derringer. 

"Your  deal,  sir,"  said  the  Colonel. 

Derringer  broke  open  a  new  deck,  shuffled, 
let  Morder  cut,  and  dealt.  Morder  raised  the 
skipper's  ante.  Derringer  laid  down  his  hand. 
The  skipper  raised  back  to  Morder.  Morder 
raised  again.  They  kept  on  raising,  and  stopped 
only  when  they  had  bet  all  their  chips.  This 
was  before  the  draw. 

"Nobody     wants     any     cards,"     Derringer 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  41 

announced  rather  than  inquired.  "Colonel 
Morder,  you  hold  a  straight,  sir.  Major  Gen- 
eral, yours  is  a  flush.  You  won't  object,  will 
you,  General,  if  I  divide  the  pot  between  you? 
I  stacked  the  cards,  you  know." 

"Cert'nly  I  won't,  sir,"  stammered  Captain 
Ben.  "But,  but  —  well,  by  the  great  Stone- 
wall!" It  looked  like  a  jest  to  him  through 
long-distance  glasses,  and  he  crumbled  by 
sections. 

Colonel  Morder  darted  a  look  of  involuntary 
admiration  at  the  young  Texan;  then  his 
thoughts  bolted  like  frightened  horses. 

"Do  you,  senor  —  sir  —  be  so  good  and 
permit  —  That  is,  may  we  see  your  cards, 
too?" 

"I  hold  three  queens,"  said  Derringer.  "But 
two  trays  await  me  on  the  top  of  the  deck. 
There,  you  see,  a  full  house." 

Captain   Ben   roared   anew. 

"Dear  sir,"  Morder  spoke  at  last,  "you  did 
not  do  those  things  last  night.  And  yet  —  ah, 
and  yet,  you  were  losing." 

"Yes,  pity  'tis,  but  you  see,  it's  this  way: 


42  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

With  me  real  poker  is  a  game  of  chance.  Shall 
we,  gentlemen,  play  real  poker?  Still,'*  added 
Derringer,  "I  can  make  it  pure  finance,  as  you 
observe,  but  if  either  of  you  think  I  would,  why, 
the  game  stops  right  here." 

The  Colonel  rather  hastily  put  forward  a 
deprecating  palm.  Captain  Ben  was  vociferous. 
Who  more  honest,  demanded  Captain  Ben,  than 
the  magician  who  reveals  his  secrets  ?  Great 
fun,  too,  by  Jupiter!  But  for  Colonel  Morder 
there  was  a  message  in  all  this,  and  he  flushed, 
recalling  his  clumsy  crookedness  of  the  night 
before.  For  he  had  shorn,  not  a  lamb,  but  a 
lion.  And  the  rebuke!  All  along  he  had  been 
at  the  mercy  of  this  marvellous  virtuoso. 

"On  the  contrary,  dear  sir,"  he  protested 
in  his  deepest  and  softest  tones,  "it  is  for  you 
to  consent  to  play  with  me." 

"Surely,"  said  Derringer.     "Why  not?" 

The  Colonel  understood  perfectly.  And  he 
resolved  to  play  a  game  strictly  of  chance. 
These  corrective  preliminaries  being  herewith 
concluded,  the  session  proper  began. 

The  young  Texan,  though  a  Texan,  played 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  43 

no  poor  hands  well  at  first.  He  did  not  play 
them  at  all.  He  chose  not  to  risk  flourishes  on 
his  small  capital.  Yet  twice  he  pushed  his 
stack  —  all  he  owned  in  the  world  —  to  the  centre 
of  the  table,  and  once  he  drew  back  double  and 
then  thrice  the  sum.  After  that  he  yielded  to 
temptation,  and  tried  the  efficacy  of  a  poor 
hand.  His  opponents  never  learned  that  the 
hand  was  poor.  At  last  he  was  in  a  condition 
to  plunge,  on  occasion. 

At  the  first  immersion  he  found  the  water  chilly, 
and  came  out  bedraggled,  though  cheerful.  At 
least  it  was  good  investment  for  plunge  two, 
and  when  they  hopefully  called  him  on  plunge 
two,  he  held  the  winning  cards. 

The  Colonel  exclaimed  in  Spanish  under  his 
breath,  yet  at  once  was  smiling  pleasantly 
again.  "How  is  it  you  say  at  the  races?"  he 
asked.  "Oh,  yes,  it  is  that  I  have  separated 
from  my  wad.  I  must  replenish.  My  excuses, 
eh,  one  moment  on-ly." 

With  that  he  rose,  bowed,  and  was  gone 
while  Captain  Ben  all  but  finished  the  spinning 
of  a  yarn.  When  he  returned,  there  followed 


44  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

him  a  bellboy  with  champagne  jacketed  in  ice. 
"My  compliments,  gentlemen.  And  Mr.  Der- 
ringer, you  permit  that  I  offer  —  So,  thank 

you." 

Mr.  Derringer,  though  permitting,  remained 
faithful  to  Scotch  and  seltzer,  and  Morder  was 
not  the  bungler  to  insist.  He  consoled  himself 
in  the  calculation  that  Scotch  alone  would 
eventually  do  the  champagne's  office.  Yet  the 
hours  passed,  and  the  black  waiter  served  from 
the  second  bottle,  and  the  young  Texan  merely 
settled  lower  in  his  chair.  It  was  not  to  be 
asserted  that  one  card  changed  hands  unnoted 
by  the  quiet  blue  eyes  hardly  above  the  level  of 
the  table.  The  room  being  warm  and  dense 
with  tobacco  smoke,  he  threw  off  his  coat  and 
turned  back  his  cuffs,  and  it  was  observed  that 
the  legs  under  him  were  unsteady.  But  to  all 
purposes  the  head  on  his  shoulders  was  as  clear 
as  a  bell.  Wisdom  dictated  to  Morder  that 
fair  playing  continue  yet  a  while.  Instead  he 
tried  to  "force  his  luck,"  which  is  never  wis- 
dom. 

"  Have    you    bet,    my    Captain  ?  —  So,    one 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  45 

little  white  chip,  thank  you.  Now  I  bet,"  and 
the  Colonel  caressingly  laid  five  yellow  chips, 
one  hundred  dollars,  with  those  in  the  centre 
of  the^table. 

"Twenty  more  to  you."  Derringer's  cool 
reiteration  of  that  phrase  was  wearing  into  the 
soul  with  its  unruffled  monotony. 

Quoth  Captain  Ben:  "  —  and  then  that  dam' 
mule  —  you  understand  me,  sir  ?  —  laid  back 
those  long  rabbit  ears  o*  his'n  and  picked  up 
his  hind  laigs,  and  —  How  ?  My  bet,  you  say  ? 
Yes,  I'll  —  No,  come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't 
reckon  I'd  better.  —  Hold  on  a  minute.  No, 
I  won't,  either.  I'll  just  lay  down.  —  And  then 
the  scared  nigger  behind  that  mule " 

"Another  hundred,"  said  the  Colonel. 

"And  twenty,"  said  Derringer. 

Almost  impatiently,  and  almost,  but  not  quite, 
with  defiance,  Colonel  Morder  pushed  forward 
all  the  chips  he  had  remaining,  worth  nearly 
three  hundred  dollars,  and  waited  tensely  on  his 
opponent. 

Like  a  machine,  without  hesitation  or  hurry, 
the  young  Texan  matched  the  bet. 


46  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

"I  have  —  "  The  Colonel  swallowed.  —  " I 
have  one  pair." 

"Same  here,   Colonel,"   said  Derringer. 

"One  pair  of  aces." 

"Same  here." 

c'Eh  ?  —  Uh,  my  next  card  is  a  —  a  ten." 

"Mine's  a  king,"  said  Derringer. 

The  Colonel  waxed  critical.  "But  sefior," 
he  asked,  "did  you  not  see  that  I  drew  only 
two  cards?  Why  did  you  not  look  and  see, 
and  not  always  listening  to  Captain  Blackburn's 
little  histories?  Then  you  would  be  so  afraid 
that  I  hold  three  of  a  kind.  Humph ! " 

"Oh,  Colonel,  I  was  afraid,"  Derringer  pro- 
tested. "I  was  dreadfully  afraid,  seeing  that 
you  started  her  off  with  a  hundred-dollar  bet. 
Post  mortems  for  remorse,  old  top." 

The  Colonel  shrugged  resignedly.  He  was 
an  accomplished  Spanish  American.  "Gentle- 
men," he  said,  lighting  a  cigarette  and  rising, 
"be  so  good  as  to  accept  my  profusion  of 
apologies.  I,  uh  —  the  truth  is,  I  have  ex- 
hausted the  indulgence  of  the  hotel  clerk  with 
my  last  draft.  I  am  extensively  desolated  that  I 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  47 

must  withdraw  from  this  game  that  is  so  happy. 
Mr.  Derringer,  down  by  the  Equator  is  the 
home  of  your  servitor,  and  there  you  have  your 
house,  sir.  Good  night.  —  Captain  Blackburn, 
good  night.  But  I  shall  see  you  again  to-mor- 
row, as  your  passenger  back  to  Sylvanlitlan." 

"Sylvanlitlan?"  exclaimed  Derringer. 

"Even  so,  dear  sir.  Down  by  the  Equator, 
my  beloved  country,  a  jewel  in  the  girdle  of 
Mother  Earth." 

"But  it's  a  distance  to  travel  without  funds, 
sir.  Won't  you  let  me " 

The  gentleman  from  Sylvanlitlan  raised  a 
hand  in  dismay.  Aboard  his  dear  Captain's 
ship  he  would  be  as  at  his  own  fireside  (though 
there  were  no  firesides  in  Sylvanlitlan),  and  an 
old  friend  like  the  Captain  would  trust  him  for 
his  passage  until  they  docked  at  Puertocito, 
which  was  Sylvanlitlan's  little  harbour  bitten 
out  of  the  great  high  sierra. 

"Bless  my  heart,"  said  Captain  Ben,  "and 
he  can  count  on  my  very  thin  pocketbook  into 
the  bargain,  too.  Mr.  Derringer,  I  was  telling 
you  last  evening  about  Don  Pedro,  who 


48  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

befriended  some  of  us  young  Confederate 
middies  when  we  ran  away  from  the  Surrender, 
the  Ocean  being  so  roomy-like,  and  anchored 
our  little  gunboat  off  Puertocito.  Then  I  told 
you  how  lately  Don  Pedro  tried  to  turn  out  the 
president's  gang  down  there,  and  how  he  is 
now  in  prison.  Well,  sir,  let  me  add  that  our 
Colonel  Morder  here  is  comandante  of  the 
national  prisons,  and  that,"  here  Captain  Ben 
scanned  anxiously,  and  perhaps  a  little  dubiously, 
the  harsh  features  of  the  Colonel,  "and  that 
he  is  very  kind  to  my  old  friend,  his  distin- 
guished prisoner." 

At  that  Derringer  did  some  pondering  at 
express  speed.  Here  was  his  urbane  Brigand 
revealed  as  Don  Pedro's  jailor.  Derringer  had 
won  more  than  a  thousand  dollars,  which  was 
plenteously  twice  enough  for  the  expedition  with 
Slag.  That  much  was  achieved.  But  an 
erratic  Fate  had  cast  the  jailor  himself  in  his 
path.  Not  to  eliminate  him  in  some  way  would 
seem  like  a  jilting  of  goddesses.  Yet  how? 
How  might  the  gentleman  be  left  behind?  Or 
by  what  cleverly  indirect  method  might  he  be 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  49 

bribed  to  stay  behind?  Derringer  was  idly 
shuffling  the  deck  of  cards.  He  bent  his  wits 
to  this  instrument,  the  deck  of  cards,  that  lay 
first  to  his  hand. 

"Oh,  but  Colonel,"  he  exclaimed,  playing  for 
time  to  plot,  "we  must  drink  your  health.  It 
does  seem  a  pity,  doesn't  it,  Major-General,  for 
one  to  come  so  far  and  stay  so  short  a  time  in  — 
well,  in  our  fair  city,  you  know." 

The  Colonel  who  was  comandante  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  He  hinted  at  imperative  busi- 
ness, the  welfare  of  his  adored  country,  and 
conspiracies  when  his  back  was  turned. 
Derringer  nodded  to  the  waiter,  and  the 
glasses  were  quietly  refilled.  The  room  was 
smoke-laden,  the  champagne  potent,  and  talk 
reckless. 

"Let  us  this  time,"  said  the  Colonel,  "let  us 
drink  to  the  Senorita." 

"Aye,  aye,"  said  Captain  Ben,  "and  God 
bless  the  little  lady." 

Derringer  first  drank  the  toast,  then  wished 
to  know  who  she  was. 

"Who   is   the  Senorita?"   repeated   Captain 


50  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

Ben.     "Who  is  Bess?     Why,  man  alive,   she 
is  Don  Pedro's  little  girl." 

"She  is  our  princess,"  murmured  Colonel 
Morder.  "She  is  the  princess  of  Sylvanlitlan." 

"Oh,  ho,"  reflected  Derringer,  "the  kind 
jailor  desires  the  lady,  or  the  lady  and  the  treas- 
ure, or  maybe  just  the  treasure.  I  feel  this  plot 
thickening  up." 

"You  see,"  Captain  Ben  went  on,  "Don 
Pedro  sent  Bess  up  to  some  young  ladies'  school 
round  near  Boston.  Wanted  her  out  of  the 
way  of  his  revolution  business,  though  it  took 
him  several  years  to  get  ready.  But  when  they 
put  him  in  prison,  why,  back  she  comes,  all 
sails  set,  and  —  privately,  understand  me,  sir  — 
before  that  Boston  young  person  is  through 
down  there,  she  will  have  her  poor  father  out 
again,  too,  by  the  Lady  Harriet!" 

"Ai,  my  Captain,"  laughed  Colonel  Morder, 
"but  I  watch  that  glorious  young  person,  never 
fear.  Who  would  not,  for  her  own  sake? 
Yet,  for  my  country's  sake,  must  I  not  forget 
old  Don  Pedro,  either.  It  is  well  I  depart 
to-morrow." 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  51 

Derringer  stifled  a  yawn.  "Tell  you  what 
I'll  do,"  he  drawled,  a  little  thickly,  "I'll  just 
bet  you  a  hundred  you  don't  get  off  to-morrow. 
Or  I'll  bet  you  you  do.  Do  or  don't,  ol'  Brigand, 
which  side  you  take?" 

"Dear  sir,  dear  sir,"  exclaimed  the  astonished 
Colonel,  "I  do  not  solicit  either  side.  It  is  a 
certainty.  I  depart  to-morrow." 

"Five  hundred  to  one  hundred  against  the 
certainty,  then."  Derringer  began  thumbing 
twenty-dollar  bills. 

Morder  was  embarrassed.  Here  was  the  falling 
of  manna,  broadcasted  by  the  hand  of  a  babe. 

"Nonsense!  Besides,"  he  added,  "poor  me, 
I  have  not  the  one  hundred." 

Derringer  begged  that  he  should  not  let  that 
bother  him.  :'You  see,  it's  this  way:  I  will 
just  buy  you  five  hundred  dollars  worth  of  chips, 
and  five  hundred  for  myself,  and  we  will  play 
a  freeze-out  for  them." 

" Dios  mio,  hombre,  to  what  purpose?" 

"Because,  hombre,  if  you  win,  you  will  have 
&  thousand  dollars.  Strikes  me  that's  simple 
enough." 


/52  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"But  I  should  owe  you  the  five  hundred  for 
the  chips  you  loan  me  ? " 

"No  you  wouldn't.  According  to  this  game, 
if  you  win  the  freeze-out,  you  win  also  the  five- 
hundred-to-one-hundred  bet  that  you  don't 
go  to  Sylvanlitlan  to-morrow." 

Captain  Ben  mopped  his  brow,  and  looked 
uneasy.  The  Colonel  gave  it  up,  too.  "I  fear," 
he  said,  "my  head,  it  is  muddled.  Suppose 
you,  not  I,  win  the  freezing-out?" 

"Also  sweetly  simple.  You  do  not  go  to-mor- 
row, and  I  win  five  hundred  and  your  bet  of 
one  hundred." 

"Dear  sir,  are  you  Zoco,  or  am  I?  I  have 
told  you  once  that  I  have  not  the  one 
hundred." 

"To  be  sure,  but  you  make  out  your  note 
for  that  and  the  five  hundred,  and  the  Major- 
General  holds  it  as  stakeholder." 

Colonel  Morder  groped  at  this,  and  again 
gave  it  up. 

"Well,  anyhow,"  said  Derringer,  "we  start 
the  freeze-out.  Got  that?  If  you  lose,  you 
agree  to  wait  for  the  next  boat,  in  two. weeks. 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  53 

Got  that?  Then  Captain  Ben  hands  me  your 
note  for  six  hundred.  And  I  have  that.  Now 
do  you  see?" 

The  Colonel  smiled  at  the  thought  of  that 
note  being  worth  the  handing  over.  He  was 
at  heart  more  than  willing,  but  he  objected 
that  he  should  have  no  funds  on  which  to  live 
during  the  two  weeks  of  waiting  for  the  next 
boat.  Now  Derringer  had  been  playing  for 
just  that  objection.  It  offered  him  the  chance 
to  tender  the  indirect  bribe,  and  also  to  assure 
himself  that,  in  the  event  the  Colonel  lost,  the 
Colonel  would  abide  by  the  agreement  to  wait 
for  the  next  boat. 

"Pshaw,  it's  too  early  to  stop  playing  yet," 
he  said  impulsively,  "and  we've  got  to  fix  this 
up  some  way.  —  I  tell  you,  you  make  out 
that  note  for  an  even  thousand.  That's  four 
hundred  more,  for  which  I  will  give  four 
hundred  in  cash  to  Captain  Ben.  Then,  if 
you  lose,  Captain  Ben  will  leave  the  four  hun- 
dred cash  with  the  hotel  clerk,  payable  to 
you  the  day  after  the  Captain's  boat  sails  for 
Sylvanlitlan." 


54  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

Here  was  a  babe  indeed,  rash  from  liquor, 
incontinently  eager  to  gamble,  indifferent  to 
\  money.  A  rich  man's  son,  probably.  The 
gentleman  from  Sylvanlitlan  indulgently  con- 
sented to  amuse  this  babe.  Let  Captain  Ben 
think  as  he  chose,  a  thousand  for  winning  or 
four  hundred  for  losing  was  too  agreeable  a 
prospect  to  quibble  over.  And  while  the  Colonel 
was  about  it,  he  could  as  well  gather  in  the 
greater  as  the  lesser  sum.  The  young  lion, 
by  the  witchery  of  Bacchus  turned  into  a 
mutton,  might  now  be  comfortably  shorn.  A 
certain  manipulation  of  cards  at  a  critical 
moment  would  suffice. 

Captain  Ben  willingly  acted  as  a  stakeholder. 
That  innocent  soul  looked  forward  only  to  the 
fun  of  witnessing  an  unusual  game  of  poker. 
For  how  unusual  a  stake  —  the  probable  chance 
of  freedom  for  an  entombed  man  thousands  of 
miles  away  —  he  suspected  nothing.  Nor  did 
the  entombed  man's  jailor. 

The  promise  to  pay  one  thousand  dollars 
was  written,  the  four  hundred  dollars  cash 
counted,  and  Captain  Ben  became  the  depository 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  55 

of  both.  The  chips  were  evenly  divided  between 
the  Colonel  and  the  Texan,  and  play  began. 
It  was  all  over  in  a  few  minutes. 

The  first  hands  were  not  eventful.  They 
were  rather  as  the  sultriness  that  is  foreboding. 
Then  came  the  climax.  Derringer  was  slightly 
winner,  and  Morder  had  gathered  up  the  cards 
to  deal.  He  shot  a  quick  glance  at  his  opponent, 
and  saw  him  crouched  in  his  chair,  burning  his 
finger-tips  with  a  match  meant  for  his  pipe. 
The  features  of  the  South  American  hardened. 
He  shuffled  the  cards  rapidly,  but  with  concen- 
tration, and  he  started  to  deal. 

"Hold  on."  The  young  Texan  stirred, 
clutched  at  the  arms  of  his  chair,  and  pulled 
himself  up.  "  Homage  to  Dame  Superstition, 
you  know.  I  want  to  cut  'em.'* 

The  Colonel  frowned,  smiled,  begged  a 
thousand  pardons,  and  surrendered  the  deck. 

The  cards  fluttered  and  slipped  together 
between  the  Texan's  hands,  and  Morder  was 
gloomily  certain  that  the  run  of  them  had  been 
changed  from  top  to  bottom.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  though,  the  uppermost  ten  or  fifteen  cards 


56  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

were  not  disturbed  at  all,  except  that  the  top 
card  was  now  on  the  bottom.  Having  cut, 
Derringer  sank  drowsily  into  his  chair. 

Morder  dealt,  looked  at  his  cards,  and,  quite 
unexpectedly,  became  alert  with  hope. 

"I  will  — "  He  hesitated  artfully.  "I  will, 
—  yes,  so  —  venture  one  blue  chip  before  the 
drawing/' 

Derringer  pushed  forward  one,  then  a  sec- 
ond, of  the  same  colour.  Morder  was  again 
painfully  dubious  until  he  had  added  a  yellow 
chip  to  the  bet.  Derringer  added  two  yellow 
chips. 

"I  reflect  one  moment,'*  Morder  soliloquized. 
"Yes,  I  will  call  that.  How  many  of  the 
cards?"  Derringer  picked  up  his  hand. 
"Along  about  one  card,  Colonel." 

Morder  promptly  discarded  two,  and  a  third 
card  he  held  poised  between  his  fingers,  under 
an  apparent  impulse  to  discard  it  also.  But  he 
did  not.  He  retained  this  third  card. 

"One  to  you,  eh?  There  you  are,  dear  sir. 
And  two  to  me,  so."  He  was  a  very  affable 
dealer. 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  57 

Both  examined  their  hands.  Neither  had 
bettered  by  the  draw. 

"  One  little  white  chip,"  whispered  the  Colonel. 
Derringer  shoved  forward  two  little  white 
chips. 

"Now  one  quite  red  one,  so.'* 

"Oh,  here,"  said  Derringer,  yawning,  "I'm 
getting  tired.  This  is  going  to  cost  you,  Mr. 
Brigand,  twenty-seven  dollars  and  fifty  cents — 
So." 

Morder  smiled  blandly  at  the  dainty  little 
pleasantry.  "I  am  frightened,  ai,  ai,  but  — 
and  twenty." 

"And  one-hundred-and-twenty." 

The  Colonel  cast  aside  coy  pretense.  "And 
as  many  more,  dear,  dear  sir,  as  I  have  here  — 
so." 

Without  a  word  Derringer  matched  them 
chip  for  chip.  Captain  Ben  sat  up  and  watched 
eagerly.  "Why,  by  Jupiter,"  he  cried,  "if  there 
ain't  nearly  a  thousand  dollars  in  the  dam'  pot! 
I  say,  what  you  got,  Derringer?  What  you 
got,  Colonel?" 

"I  have,"  said  the  Colonel,  "three  queens. 


58  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

I    believe    they    surpass    the    two    pair    of   my 
esteem-ed  adversary,  eh  ?" 

His  wrist  bent  round  the  jumble  of  chips  that 
meant  one  thousand  dollars. 

"Easy,  Colonel,  easy,"  said  Derringer. 
"Plenty  of  time,  you  know." 

A  slight  spasm  twitched  the  circling  wrist. 
"Eh,  you  have  not  the  filled  house  ?" 

"No,  nor  a  flush,  nor  a  straight." 

"Ah,  then  they  are  two  pair,  as  I  so  wisely 
calculated.  You  drew  one  card." 

"Wait,"  said  Derringer.  "What  do  you  say 
to  a  little  post-mortem  first?  Now  there,"  he 
went  on,  spreading  out  Morder's  cards,  "are 
three  charming  creatures,  and  —  in  poker  — 
certainly  very  desirable.  Yet  four  of  them 
would  be  more  so,  because  more  convincing. 
Here,  Colonel,"  he  said,  picking  up  the  deck 
and  showing  the  bottom  card,  "is  your  fourth 
queen." 

"But,  sir,"  protested  the  Colonel,  though  he 
changed  colour,  "to  what  purpose  all  this?" 

"We  will  suppose,  dear  sir,"  Derringer  pro- 
ceeded, "that  this  fourth  queen  had  been  the 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  59 

top  card.  What  then?  Why,  simply  this: 
7  would  have  held  the  four  queens,  Colonel." 

"  N  ombre  de  Dios,  what  of  that,  senor ." 

"Nothing  much,  Colonel,  only  —  in  that  case 
you  would  have  held  the  hand  /  now  hold, 
which  contains"  —  he  threw  his  cards  face  up 
on  the  table — "four  aces." 

The  Colonel  required  a  fraction  of  a  second 
longer  than  usual  before  he  smiled.  "No 
insinuations,  of  course  ?"  he  observed  pleasantly. 

"My  goodness,  no.  Like  to  play  any  more, 
dear  Brigand  ?" 

The  Colonel  laughed  outright.  "  Sweet  saints, 
I  should  say  not!" 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  was  lying  under 
that  quilt  of  unconsciousness  which  Na- 
ture spreads  after  a  night  of  dissipation, 
when  he  slowly  grew  aware  of  very  hard  knocks 
around  a  beleaguered  dungeon,  himself  in  the 
dungeon  and  considerably  of  a  mind  against 
being  rescued.  At  last  the  commotion  broke 
down  the  dead  walls  of  slumber,  and  he  yelled : 
"  Take  the  door  if  you  need  it,"  and  rolled  over 
for  more  sleep. 

The  knocks  crashed  faster,  like  artillery,  and 
there  was  a  voice  shouting  above  the  din.  "  Hey, 
wake  up!  Hey  there,  wake  up,  wake  up!'* 
Derringer  decided  that  he  did  not  really  care 
to  sleep  any  longer.  In  bath  robe,  with  red 
hair  tousled,  eyes  blinking,  and  head  aching 
terrifically,  he  opened  to  a  dressed-up,  perspiring 
and  profane  Mr.  Slag. 

"All  hail,  sweet  herald  of  the  dawn!" 

60 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  61 

"Dawn?"  ejaculated  Mr.  Slag.  "More  like 
dusk.  Now  hustle,  kid!  We  want  to  catch 
that  boat." 

A  bellboy,  with  ice  jingling  in  a  pitcher  and 
a  Martini  cocktail  on  a  tray,  was  also  at  the 
door.  Blaze  Derringer  had  resided  in  that 
hotel  four  nights,  and  they  knew  his  neces- 
sities. The  young  man  seized  a  piece  of  the 
ice,  and  laid  it  to  the  crown  of  his  head.  But 
he  uttered  no  complaint.  He  paid  the  piper 
cheerfully. 

"Well,"  he  inquired,  "what's  the  matter? 
House  on  fire?" 

Cornelius  Slag  was  looking  round  on  the 
cold  grim  wreckage  of  last  night's  warmth 
and  cheer.  ;<Yep,  I  heard  about  it,"  he  said. 
;'You  must  'a'  been  lucky,  all  right.  An* 
here's  your  watch.  And  look  at  it,  will  you? 
Look  at  it.  Three-thirty,  an'  our  boat  pulls  out 
at  five!" 

"Quite  so.     Have  a  nip,  old  top ?" 

Slag  helped  himself  from  a  left-over  bottle 
of  Scotch,  ceaselessly  urging  haste.  Derringer 
retired  under  the  showerbath  instead,  until 


62  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

the  jailbreaker's  raps  on  the  bathroom  door 
mingled  with  the  fall  of  waters.  Again  robed 
and  with  the  ice  bound  by  a  towel  to  his  head, 
he  emerged,  grinning  feebly. 

"I  guess  you  try  to  be  a  good  sport,"  Slag 
observed  charitably.  "  Now  what  next,  put  on 
your  clothes,  or  what?" 

Clothes,  it  appeared,  did  come  next,  and  the 
young  man  arrayed  himself. 

"At  last,"  said  Slag.  "Now  let's  see  if  you 
really  got  the  money?" 

Derringer  searched  through  his  pockets.  From 
coat,  trousers  and  vest,  crumpled  like  waste 
paper,  he  emptied  out  greenbacks,  silver  certi- 
ficates, and  Treasury  notes.  Slag  tenderly 
smoothed  out  the  abused  currency.  It  was 
worth  an  oath.  "Why,"  he  panted,  "there's 
'most  six  hundred  dollars!" 

"Is  there?  All  right,  take  out  your  twenty- 
five,  and  a  hundred  for  interest." 

Whereupon  Slag  committed  himself  definitely. 
The  kid  was  a  good  sport.  "  How's  your  head  ?  " 
he  inquired. 

"So's  I  can  part  my  hair,  I  reckon."     The 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  63 

towel  came  off,  and  Derringer  verified  his  pre- 
diction. 

"Now  what?"  demanded  Slag.  "Your 
trunk?  All  right,  let  me  help  you  pack." 
'You  might  throw  in  the  things  as  they  come. 
No,  call  down  to  the  office  for  a  hack  and  a 
porter  and  the  bill.  There's  the  'phone,  there 
behind  you." 

Derringer  meantime  jerked  drawers  from 
the  furniture,  and  dumped  their  contents  into 
the  trunk.  There  were  the  varying  habili- 
ments required  of  a  gentleman  morning,  after- 
noon, evening,  or  at  a  funeral.  Silver  utensils 
of  toilet  he  tossed  into  a  suit  case,  to  which 
he  added,  from  the  table  at  his  bedside, 
a  volume  of  Byron,  Voltaire's  Candide,  and 
several  photographs  of  handsome  women. 
Locks  snapped,  and  the  two  receptacles  were 
closed. 

"There!"  he  announced.  "  South  America  is 
our  next  stop." 

"Porter's  here  now,"  said  Slag.  "But  listen 
first.  If  Jenkins  an*  me  share  up  equal  with 
you  on  the  swag,  that  all  right  ?" 


64  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

"Eh?  Oh,  yes.  We'll  stop  at  the  bar  for 
one  more.  I  know,  but  we'll  take  the  tune. 
We  drank  to  somebody  or  other  last  night,  who 
was  it  ?  Oh,  yes.  Cornelius,  we  must  drink 
to  the  Senorita,  you  know." 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

IT  IS  not  permitted  that  one  shall  land 
in  Sylvanlitlan  in  a  good  humour.  With 
a  passport,  a  bill  of  health,  and  a  certi- 
ficate of  good  conduct,  all  three  procured  from 
the  American  consul  at  Curacao,  and  viseed 
by  the  Sylvanlitlan  consul  at  the  rate  of  two 
dollars  per  document,  Messrs.  Slag  &  Der- 
ringer, jailbreakers,  hoped  not  to  be  turned 
back  either  as  revolutionaries  or  infectiously 
mosquito-bitten.  One  morning  the  Leviathan 
anchored  under  the  shadow  of  a  mountain. 
The  mountain  was  the  wall  of  a  continent,  and 
behind  the  wall  lay  South  America.  Barnacle- 
like  little  houses  that  glistened  as  chalky  bones 
in  the  Equatorial  sun  clung  to  the  base  of  the 
rock.  These  were  Puertocito,  romantically  ill- 
famed  in  the  old  buccaneering  days  of  the 
Spanish  Main. 
Tawny  men  in  white  duck  and  gold  braid 

66 


66  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

clambered  over  the  rail  of  the  Leviathan.  They 
were  the  Doctor  of  the  Port  and  staff,  the  Col- 
lector of  the  Port  and  staff,  and  the  Captain  of 
the  Port  and  staff.  The  Captain  of  the  Port 
wore  a  monocle  and  three-starred  epaulettes. 
He  casually  entered  into  conversation  with  any 
passenger  who  happened  to  be  smoking.  Had 
the  passenger  bought  cigars  at  Havana?  And 
if  the  passenger  offered  no  cigars,  the  Captain 
of  the  Port  asked  for  a  smoke  outright.  His 
three  stars  made  him  very  successful  in  this. 

The  Sylvanlitlan  officials  transformed  the 
Leviathan's  salon  into  a  star-chamber,  and  sus- 
piciously fumbled  over  the  viseed  documents, 
and  wrote  down  answers  to  many  personal 
questions.  After  staying  for  dinner  and  drink- 
ing wine,  they  departed  over  the  rail  and  were 
rowed  to  land.  But  never  a  passenger  might 
as  yet  leave  the  ship. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  the  white  ducks  flocked 
back,  and  he  of  the  three  stars  levied  again  on 
the  passengers  who  had  bought  cigars  at  Havana. 
This  was  a  little  social  phase  of  captaining 
the  Port.  Officially  he  came  with  the  passenger 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  67 

list,  which  had  been  telegraphed  to  the  Senor 
Presidente  up  in  his  capitol  at  Constanza  de 
la  Paz,  and  the  Senor  Presidente  had  wired 
back  the  names  of  the  fortunate  ones  whom  he 
permitted  to  land. 

The  fortunate  ones  might  now  consummate 
their  arrival  in  Sylvanlitlan.  Nothing  further 
was  required,  except  money.  The  boatman 
knew  how  to  charge,  of  course,  but  in  Sylvan- 
litlan boatmen  drop  to  the  rank  of  petty  piracy. 
There  is  the  Republic,  and  her  fees;  a  fee  for 
the  passenger,  and  for  each  piece  of  baggage. 
There  is  the  Dock  Concession  and  fees,  also 
for  self  and  each  piece  of  baggage.  There  is 
the  Custom  House,  and  fees  for  inspection  of 
self  and  baggage.  There  is  the  railroad,  and 
charges  for  extra  baggage  over  twenty  kilos. 
This  about  ends  the  fees.  But  if  one  is  an 
angel,  he  adds  a  gratuity  to  each  fee. 

When  finally  aboard  the  train,  and  climbing 
the  mountain  up  and  around  devious  curves, 
the  traveller  wishes  to  look  out  at  South  America 
from  the  car  window,  a  red  capped  soldier  taps 
him  on  the  shoulder  and  requires  him  to  write  his. 


68  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

name  in  a  book.  The  next  morning,  before  arriv- 
ing at  Constanza  on  the  plateau,  another  red  cap 
goes  through  the  train  gathering  another  census. 

"Serious-minded  jackasses,  aren't  they,  Cor- 
nelius ?"  observed  Blaze  Derringer.  "I  suppose 
it's  against  the  law  to  change  your  name,  so 
every  nice  little  revolutionist  puts  down  his 
real  name  the  very  first  dozen  times,  and  is  so 
happy  in  his  Sunday  school." 

Cornelius  scratched  his  head.  He  didn't 
know  for  sure. 

"I've  a  good  notion,"  Derringer  mused 
thoughtfully,  "to  start  a  revolution." 

"No  you  don't,  neither,"  growled  Slag.  "  We've 
got  more  to  start  now  'n  we  can  likely  stop." 

"But  they  deserve  it,  Cornelius,"  pleaded 
Derringer.  _^>- 

i  Slag  ordered  him  to  get  that  notion  out  of 
his  head;  and  then,  as  they  had  been  puffing 
and  pulling  up  mountains  all  night,  he  wondered 
when  they  were  due  at  this  here  Constanza  place. 

"There's  your  beloved  Jenkins  now,"  said 
Derringer.  "Ask  him." 

Jenkins  was  conductor  of  the  train,  but  Jen- 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  69 

kins  had  not  proved  sociable.  He  was  a  crusty, 
gloomy  man  with  a  pompadour,  a  hatchet  face, 
a  spare  frame  of  big  bones,  and  a  very  meagre 
general  hopefulness  as  to  whether  anything  in 
this  world  would  ever  pan  out  right.  Jenkins 
stopped  at  the  door  of  the  drawing  room,  which 
was  occupied  by  Derringer,  and  Derringer 
cordially  asked  him  in  to  have  something. 

"Hat  checks,"  said  Jenkins;  and  having 
taken  the  hat  checks,  Jenkins  proceeded  on 
his  way  through  the  train. 

"Real  lovely  friend  of  yours,  Cornelius," 
remarked  Derringer.  "Do  you  suppose  he's 
waiting  for  your  letter  of  introduction  ?" 

Slag  warned  his  young  companion  against 
gaiety,  at  least  until  he  had  done  served  some 
apprenticeship  at  the  difficult  profession  of  jail- 
breaking.  It  was  further  advisable  to  let  Jenkins 
alone,  as  Jenkins  knew  what  he  was  about. 

Later  the  same  morning,  after  they  had  arrived 
at  Constanza  and  were  installed  at  the  Hotel 
Bolivar  on  the  Plaza  Bolivar,  they  saw  Jenkins 
again-  They  were  trying  out  the  hotel  cafe, 
and  the  conductor,  unofficially  attired,  sauntered 


70  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

in  by  the  street  door.  He  nodded  to  the  two 
Americans.  He  could  do  that,  because  he  was 
an  American  also,  and  they  were  three  Americans 
under  the  same  roof  in  South  America.  The 
scraping  of  acquaintanceship  was  inevitable, 
and  South  America  expected  nothing  else.  There 
were  several  of  South  America  in  the  cafe,  som- 
nolently taking  rum  or  chocolate  at  marble-top 
tables.  Thus  Jenkins  knew  what  he  was  about. 

"Can  any  of  you  two  fellows  tell  me,"  he 
inquired,  "how  God's  country  looks?'* 

Slag  told  him  that  it  had  looked  sloppy  to 
fair  when  he  saw  it  last,  but  mostly  sloppy; 
and  swore  at  the  gizzard-burnin*  cognac.  Was 
that  what  they  expected  a  white  man  to  drink, 
just  because  it  was  the  Equator  ? 

Jenkins  frowned.  White  men  shouldn't  come 
to  South  America.  They  ought  to  be  arrested 
for  it.  He  sat  down,  and  sorrowfully  looked 
at  the  comic  pictures  in  a  Madrid  weekly  lying 
on  the  table.  He  paid  out  his  reserve  sparingly. 
Little  by  little  contact  grew  into  conversation, 
and  conversation  subsided  to  a  pitch  low  and 
intimate. 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  71 

"I  reckon  it's  all  right  now,  Con,"  said  Jen- 
kins, "but  you  look  at  that  wild  young  Greaser 
over  there  drinking  out  of  a  stone  bottle 
and  blowing  smoke  through  his  nose  —  the 
one  in  the  upholstered  uniform.  Eh?  Well, 
that's  Major  De  Marzi,  and  while  Colonel 
Morder  is  away,  that  Major  boy  is  the  head 
jailor  of  this  here  Republica.  And  there  ain't 
no  telling  who  else  might  be  around  watching. 
Long  as  Don  Pedro's  alive  and  they  can't  make 
up  their  minds  to  kill  him,  they  don't  sleep 
much  o'  nights.  By  the  way,  Con,  you've  got 
to  rig  up  some  sort  of  visible  occupation  to 
explain  yourself  by,  unless  you  reckon  you  can 
pass  for  a  vag.  —  And  say,  who's  the  red-headed 
dude?" 

"Yes,  Cornelius,"  said  Derringer,  "present 
me  to  the  old  Roman-nosed,  lantern-jawed 
clothes-horse  of  a  misanthropic  sexton  —  Ah, 
honoured,  I'm  sure." 

"Look  here,  bub,"  said  Jenkins,  "I  wasn't 
asking  you  for  my  photograph.  And  Con,  hear 
me  now,  you  want  to  tuck  him  in  good  o'  nights. 
This  altitude  is  some  bad  for  tender  blossims." 


72  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

"Hold  on,  Jenkins,"  growled  Slag,  "you 
better  let  him  alone.  You  know  well  enough, 
Jenkins,  that  if  a  man's  with  me,  he's  liable  to 
be  medicine.  Dude,  your  grandmother!" 

"That's  all  right,  Cornelius,"  said  Derringer 
gently.  "I  won't  hurt  him." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Jenkins,  "thank 
you  most  to  death.  Do  I  go  on  breathing  as 
usual,  please?" 

Derringer  shot  a  look  of  unexpected  liking 
at  the  glum  and  big-boned  American.  "Yes," 
he  replied  gravely,  "you  may  for  the  pres- 
ent." 

Slag  was  impatient.  Lowering  his  voice,  he 
demanded  certain  details  about  Don  Pedro's 
prison  and  as  to  when  they  might  get  to  work. 
Jenkins  did  not  hasten  to  reply.  He  was  still 
doubtful  about  Derringer.  He  asked  bluntly  if 
Derringer  had  been  taken  in  with  them;  then 
wanted  to  know  what  Derringer  had  brought 
to  the  partnership. 

"Me,  for  one  thing,"  said  Slag,  "and  a  wad. 
What  else  he  brought,  he's  got  in  him,  I  guess. 
Now  where' s  that  prison  ?" 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  73 

"We'll  take  a  walk,"  replied  Jenkins.  "Like 
to  take  a  walk,  bub?" 

"I  thought,  Cornelius,"  said  Derringer 
reproachfully,  "you  told  me  he  had  such  a 
sweet  face." 

"You  hear  me,  you  two  watch  out  for  each 
other,"  Slag  retorted.  "Now  come  on." 

On  their  way  out,  they  had  to  pass  the  table 
occupied  by  the  fiery  young  native  whom  Jenkins 
had  pointed  out  as  Major  De  Marzi.  Jenkins 
passed  him  first,  then  Slag,  and  then  came  Der- 
ringer. A  boot  scraped  on  the  floor,  a  spur 
jingled,  a  sabre  rattled  in  its  scabbard,  and  the 
wild  young  De  Marzi  stood  before  the  Texan, 
smilingly  requesting  the  favour  of  some  "fire" 
from  his  cigar.  The  fellow  with  his  black 
eyes  was  as  handsome  as  Lucifer.  Derringer 
suddenly  smiled  a/so,  and  gave  him  a  light. 
There  were  matches  on  the  table  before  the 


man. 

« 


I  espeek  Anglish,"  said  Major  De  Marzi. 
"I  should  say  you  do,"  returned  Derringer. 
"I  espeek  jus'  a  few,"  the  Major  explained. 
"My  girl,  she  have  learn  the  Anglish  in  school 


74  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

of  United  States.  I  mus'  make  practise  —  no  ? 
so  she  admire  my  Anglish  espeeking." 

Derringer  assured  him  that  he  certainly  must, 
and  recommended  that  he  practise  English  with 
the  girl  herself. 

"Oh,  Mister,"  cried  the  Major,  "you  have 
not  acquaintance  with  the  Senorita.  She  no 
permit  that  I,  that  any  unacquainted  senor, 
talk  with  her.  But  I  see  you  again  ?  I  do 
practise  with  you,  yes?" 

"Sure,"  said  Derringer.  "Come  around  any 
time."  Then  he  excused  himself,  and  joined 
his  two  compatriots  waiting  outside. 

"What  did  he  want?"    asked  Jenkins. 

"  Wanted  to  know  what  I'm  here  for;  Asphalt, 
Pearls,  Revolution,  or  Jail  Delivery." 

"You  don't  mean  he  asked  you?" 

"Hardly." 

"That  fellow,"  muttered  Jenkins,  "is  the 
Presidente's  own  pet,  and  the  devil's  too,  I 
reckon." 

"Well,  I  declare!" 

"  You  needn't  be  declaring,  neither.  He  killed 
a  man  right  here  on  this  Plaza  last  month. 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  75 

Clipped  a  shoulder  off  him  with  his  pretty 
sword.  Don't  know  if  he's  killed  his  man  this 
month  yet  or  not.  Watch  out  for  him,  bub." 

Derringer  let  this  go  by  default.  ''What," 
he  asked,  "is  the  meaning  of  the  word  'Seno- 
rita  'round  here?  Is  it  a  generic  term,  or 
a  title  of  some  one  in  particular?" 

"Wh  —  what?" 

"If  a  man  comes  up  to  you  and  says  he's 
in  love  with  '  the  Senorita,'  what  does  he  mean  ?  " 

"  He  means  old  Don  Pedro's  daughter,  that's 
who;  and,"  said  Jenkins,  "any  man  who'd 
ever  seen  her  might  say  the  same  thing,  if  he 
was  particularly  out  for  telling  the  truth." 

"Suppose,"  said  Derringer,  "we    go  around 

and  call  on  her?" 

i 

He  might  as  well  have  proposed  a  bank  rob- 
bery. 

"You  hear  me,  bub,"  exclaimed  Jenkins, 
"this  ain't  one  of  your  little  sociable  Texas 
towns.  This  here  is  South  America." 

"Where  does  she  live?" 

"  Might  as  well  show  him,  Jenkins,"  said  Slag. 

Jenkins    consented,    since   they   would    pass 


76  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

the  Senorita's  home  on  their  way  to  look  at 
the  prison.  He  led  them  through  the  luxuri- 
antly tropical  Plaza  into  a  street  that  was  long 
and  narrow,  like  a  shallow  canon  between  the 
houses.  The  end  of  the  canon,  far  away,  seemed 
to  be  closed  up  by  the  side  of  a  mountain,  but 
when  they  reached  the  end,  the  mountain  had 
receded  and  was  part  of  a  distant  sierra.  Off 
there,  outlined  against  the  base  of  the  mountain 
chain,  there  was  a  church  with  two  square 
towers,  reached  by  a  wide  sandstone  walk 
between  lofty  palms,  and  also  by  a  very  wide  and 
very  dusty  driveway  on  either  side  of  the  walk. 
The  sandalled  feet  of  water  carriers  pattered  on 
the  sandstone,  and  a  little  farther  on  the  Ameri- 
cans passed  the  fountain  where  they  filled  their 
buckets.  Women  with  their  heads  wrapped  in 
rebosas,  and  other  women  wearing  black  shawls, 
idly,  patiently  plodded  along,  devotions  in 
the  church  beyond  being  as  urgent  as  water. 

On  either  side  dashing  equipages  conveyed 
their  occupants  through  the  dust  to  the  church 
for  prayer,  and  brought  them  back  through 
the  dust  for  show.  Here  and  there  an  impos- 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  77 

ing  old  residence  faced  the  driveway  from  behind 
walls  of  adobe.  In  the  rear  was  bleak  soli- 
tude, a  wild  tableland  of  cactus  that  encroached 
on  the  curbing  of  the  boulevard  in  the  vacant 
places,  and  stretched  backward  over  loneliness 
to  the  distant  sierra. 

Jenkins  explained  that  they  were  now  on  the 
Paseo  —  the  Paseo  of  Palms  —  and  that  if  they 
kept  going  almost  to  the  church,  they  would 
come  to  a  bronze  statue  of  the  first  Don  Pedro, 
who  was  the  liberator,  and  on  the  other  side 
they  would  see  a  castle-like  building  of  stone 
which  was  the  prison  house  of  the  last  Pedro, 
who  very  much  required  liberating. 

"An*  you  got  his  promissory  for  a  hundered 
thousand,"  said  Slag.  "Now,  I  wonder  what 
a  thing  o'  that  kind  really  looks  like." 

Jenkins  produced  the  document  itself,  and 
they  gazed  on  the  perpendicular  Spanish,  then 
on  the  regal  signature  with  underscoring  nourish, 
and  lastly  on  the  daughter's  name  as  witness; 
but  most  of  all  they  gazed  caressingly  on  the 
dollar  mark  with  the  figure  one  and  five 
ciphers. 


78  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

Mr.  Slag  was  enthralled.  "Aw,"  he  strug- 
gled feebly,  "  'tain't  so  much.'* 

"Steady,  steady,"  said  Derringer.  "The 
maturity  of  the  note  waits  on  us,  so  the  busier 
the  quicker.  What  shall  we  do  first?" 

Slag  looked  professional.  "Well,"  he  said, 
"as  I  can't  consult  with  this  Don  Pedro  person 
himself,  I  ought  to  see  the  girl,  seems  like." 

That  was  all  very  well,  but  Jenkins  gloomily 
inquired  how  he  was  going  to  do  it. 

"Same  way  you  did,  mebbe,"  said  Slag. 
"You  saw  her,  didn't  you  ?" 

Yes,  but  Jenkins  had  seen  the  girl  and  her 
aunt  on  his  train  —  passengers  in  the  drawing- 
room  —  and  he  had  wondered  about  how 
troubled  she  looked  until  he  learned  that  she 
was  the  Seiiorita.  So  of  course  she  was  heart- 
sick, with  her  father  in  prison  waiting  to  be 
killed  as  soon  as  they  found  his  money,  and  it 
made  Jenkins  very  acid. 

He  kept  seeing  her  wan  face  all  the  time 
he  went  through  the  train  collecting  tickets, 
and  then,  back  in  the  third-class  coach  checking 
up,  all  of  a  sudden  he  remembered  Con  Slag,) 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  79 

Jail  breaker.  Directly  afterward,  Jenkins  was 
knocking  at  the  door  of  the  drawing  room,  and 
a  moment  later  he  had  offered  to  bet  the  princess 
of  Sylvanlitlan  that  Con  Slag  could  get  her 
father  out  of  prison. 

"But  you  know  how  'tis,  Con,'*  said  Jenkins, 
"how  a  dying  man  will  even  call  in  a  snake 
doctor  when  the  regular  fellows  give  him  up." 

The  poor  little  Senorita  was  ready  for  the 
snake  doctor,  and  Jenkins  had  sent  for  Slag. 
It  seemed,  however,  that  the  girl  had  needed 
to  persuade  her  father  first.  Jenkins  reckoned 
that  her  father  was  too  high  up  and  uncommon 
to  vulgarly  break  jail.  What  Don  Pedro  prob- 
ably wanted  was  cannon  and  a  brass  band, 
and  then  to  stride  forth  like  one  of  them  kings 
of  France,  casting  smiles  on  his  faithful  retainers, 
and  pardoning  the  other  fellows,  his  detainers, 
who  were  lying  around  on  the  castel  walls 
of  the  prison,  dripping  blood  down  on  the 
ostridge  plumes  of  the  loyal  hullabaloo  in 
the  courtyard  below.  But  the  Senorita,  was 
different.  The  Senorita  had  been  to  school 
in  Boston,  and  she  knew  what  was  real  up-to- 


80  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

date  and  proper,  and  so,  some  way,  she  had  got 
her  father  to  consent  to  Con  Slag.  Jenkins 
reckoned  that  it  was  a  hard  dose  for  the  old 
man,  and  —  looking  at  Slag  —  he  didn't  wonder. 
A  mighty  nice  girl,  too! 

"Then  where  in  the  world  does  she  live?" 
Derringer  insisted. 

"Wait,  Blazes,  wait,"  said  Slag.  "I  want  to 
ask  how  she  gets  to  see  her  father." 

"Morder  lets  her  see  him  sometimes." 

"An'  Major  What's-his-name,  what  about 
him?" 

"De  Marzi  ?  He  lets  her  in  any  time,  long 
as  Morder  isn't  here." 

"Then  it's  lucky  we  left  Morder  behind. 
Now  let's  go  see  the  girl." 

Jenkins  stopped,  and  waved  an  obliging 
hand  toward  a  massive  old  house  of  stone  that 
they  were  then  passing.  It  was  moss-coloured 
and  almost  hidden  among  original  forest  giants. 
There  was  a  high  wall  surrounding  the  house 
and  grounds,  and  the  carriage  gate  of  iron  bars 
was  guarded  by  a  red-cap  sentinel  with  carbine 
and  bayonet. 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  81 

"There  you  are,"  said  Jenkins.  "Help  your- 
self." 

"But  what's  that  shrivelled  little  saddle- 
coloured  soldier  thing  there  for?"  demanded 
Slag. 

"Oh,  don't  mind  him,"  retorted  Jenkins, 
"he's  only  in  case  anybody  tries  to  get  in  and 
smuggle  out  the  treasure.  But  he  can't  shoot 
straight,  so  hurry  along;  I'll  wait  for  you  here." 

The  jail  breaker  hesitated,  scowling. 

"Come  on,  Cornelius,"  Derringer  called. 
Derringer  was  crossing  the  road  direct  for  the 
forbidden  gate. 

"The  little  fool,"  muttered  Jenkins.  "Still, 
it  ain't  square  not  to  back  him  up.  Come  on, 
Con." 


CHAPTER  SIX 

THE  feelings  of  the  sentry  at  the  gate 
were  hurt  because  a  tourist-looking 
American  in  outing  flannels  seemed 
to  be  unaware  of  sentries.  With  a  guttural 
exclamation  of  surprise  the  man  presented  his 
bayonet  at  Derringer's  necktie  just  as  Der- 
ringer pushed  open  the  gate.  Derringer  gave 
back,  a  startled  and  grieved  look  on  his  face,  and 
asked  the  guard  in  reasonably  bad  Castilian 
if  he  had  ever  heard  of  Major  De  Marzi.  The 
guard  was  considerably  impressed  and  mysti- 
fied, and  stammered  that  of  course  he  knew 
Major  De  Marzi,  since  Major  De  Marzi  was  his 
comandante  in  the  absence  of  Colonel  Morder. 

"Well,"  said  Derringer,  "the  Major  asked 
me  if  I  would  mind  stopping  on  my  way  by  here 
to  shoot  the  red  off  your  cap.  He  wants  my 
opinion  of  a  new  automatic  pistol."  Derringer 
touched  his  hip  pocket. 

82 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  83 

The  sentry  began  to  change  colour.  Major 
De  Marzi  was  evidently  not  incapable  of  such 
requests. 

'You    are    also    acquainted    with    Colonel 
Morder?"  pursued  Derringer. 

From  the  vortex  of  a  troubled  spirit  the  man 
nodded. 

"Very  good,"  said  Derringer;  "because  here 
is  Colonel  Morder' s  order  for  the  treasure  of 
San  —  I  mean  Don  —  Pedro.  Might  we  trouble 
you  to  run  in  and  get  it  for  us  ?" 

The  guard  stared.  "Holy  Maria!"  he  suddenly 
cried;  "this  is  a  crazy  American!" 

"Read  the  order  for  yourself,"  and  Derringer 
unfolded  the  note  for  one  thousand  dollars  won 
from  Morder  in  Galveston.  The  sentry  recog- 
nized the  signature,  but  he  could  make  nothing 
of  the  text.  Derringer  was  forced  to  explain 
that  Colonel  Morder  had  written  it  in  English 
out  of  politeness,  because  he  and  the  other 
two  senores  were  English-speaking  Americans. 
Would  the  sentry  therefore  hurry,  and  bring 
out  the  treasure  ? » 

"In    true    seriousness,    senor,"    pleaded   the 


84  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

man,  "what  will  my  Colonel  wish  in  his  English 
handwriting?" 

Derringer's  grave  countenance  relaxed.  He 
laughed,  and  gave  the  man  a  ten-bolivar  bill ;  this 
was  to  help  him  perceive  that  it  was  all  a  joke. 

14 You  see  for  yourself,"  he  said.  "Colonel 
Morder  writes  us  a  permiso  to  visit  Don  Pedro's 
gardens.  Colonel  Morder  was  my  guest  for 
a  brief  period  in  the  States,  so  he  kindly " 

Derringer  filled  in  the  pause  with  a  second 
ten-bolivar  note. 

"Oh,  senor,"  exclaimed  the  guard,  "would 
you  think  that  I  question  the  signature  of  my 
Colonel?"  He  glanced  swiftly  up  and  down 
the  boulevard.  "No  one  observes.  Pass 
quickly,  seiiores  —  there.  But  come  again 
when  I  whistle.  Thank  you,  senor." 

The  three  conspirators  were  in  the  gardens 
of  the  first  emperor  of  Sylvanlitlan. 

"That  last  you  gave  him  makes  thirty  boli- 
vars," said  Jenkins.  "That's  two  dollars 
admission  each,  enough  for  shady  seats  at  the 
bull-fight  Sunday." 

"An*  what  do  we  see  for  it?"    Slag  waved  a 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  85 

hairy  hand  —  "only  an  amateur  graveyard. 
What's  all  this  digging  in  here  for,  anyway?" 

The  gardens  of  the  dead  and  gone  emperor, 
shaded  by  the  great  trees,  cluttered  over  with 
blossoms  by  myriads,  and  tangled  in  branches 
sagging  under  perfumed  weight,  did  indeed 
resemble  a  cemetery;  that  is,  a  cemetery  pre- 
pared for  disordered  and  wholesale  burials  and 
then  mysteriously  abandoned.  There  was  not 
a  handful  of  earth  but  had  been  turned  over  by 
pick  or  spade. 

"The  Presidente's  gang,"  explained  Jenkins. 
"They've  been  sort  of  scratching  round  for  the 
treasure." 

"Do  you  think  she's  at  home?"  asked  Der- 
ringer. 

Slag,  jailbreaker,  took  charge.  He  kept 
close  to  the  wall,  so  as  not  to  be  seen  through 
the  gate,  and  led  them,  single  file,  mid  foliage 
and  fragrance.  He  supposed  there  must  be 
back  doors  to  emperors'  houses.  They  came, 
instead,  upon  what  Slag  termed  "somethin' 
'twixt  a  porch  an*  a  dug-out."  It  was  a  loggia, 
cut  under  the  upper  story  of  the  old  stone  house, 


86  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

and  forming  a  shady  nook  behind  vine-clad 
pillars  —  a  bower  for  some  lonely  princess. 

The  three  men  crept  carefully  nearer,  until, 
through  the  leaves,  they  saw  the  bright  colours 
of  a  hammock ;  or  rather,  one  end  of  a  hammock ; 
and  Derringer  caught  a"  glimpse  of  something 
else  there,  which  was  the  high  red  heel  of  a 
lady's  shoe.  Jenkins,  of  course,  had  to  tramp 
on  the  traditional  twig  that  snaps,  whereat 
the  high  heel  suddenly  twitched,  jerked,  and 
vanished.  Then  before  them,  framed  as  a 
picture  of  loveliness  between  the  flowers  twin- 
ing round  the  pillars,  there  stood  a  girl,  a 
slender,  sweet,  and  very  pretty  girl.  Chestnut 
brown  eyes,  still  beautifully  heavy  from  sleep, 
opened  widely  on  them,  questioning  and  indig- 
nant. The  lonely  princess  of  the  bower,  but  — 
combative ! 

A  wisp  of  hair  lay  moist  against  one 
cheek,  and  the  cheek  was  rose-red,  marked  as 
she  had  lain  on  it,  and  one  bare  forearm  showed 
where  the  cords  of  the  hammock  had  pressed 
the  soft  flesh.  The  truant  wisp  was  put  in 
place,  and  both  cheeks  became  of  the  same 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  87 

pink,  and  she  was  unconsciously  haughty,  and 
bewitchingly  prim,  and  as  alluring  as  tropical 
womanhood,  and  all  of  these  at  the  same  time. 
Con  Slag  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the  other, 
Jenkins  awkwardly  took  off  his  hat,  and  Der- 
ringer —  Blaze  Derringer  of  Texas  — 

;<  What  a  corking  pretty  girl!"    he  murmured. 

She  overheard,  and  she  understood.  She 
flushed  in  her  helplessness  there  before  them. 

"I  —  I  am  afraid,  sir,"  she  spoke  in  a  quiet 
little  voice,  "that  you  have  been  a  long  time 
away  from  your  mother." 

Slowly  the  blood  left  Derringer's  face.  He 
stood,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  abashed. 

"I  forgot,"  he  said,  "that  you  understood 
English ;  but  you  are  quite  right,  for  I  have  been 
away  from  my  mother  a  long  time.  My 
mother  —  is  dead." 

"Oh!" 

It  was  a  low  cry,  and  he  looked  up  quickly, 
and  saw  pity  in  her  eyes.  From  that  moment 
he  worshipped;  simply,  frankly,  and  humbly 
worshipped. 

"There,  it  is  all  right,  you  know,"  and  he 


88  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

smiled,  so  that  she  might  see  that  he  was  not 
hurt.  "And  we  haven't  much  time,  you  know. 
We  only  want  to  help,  and,"  he  promised  ear- 
nestly, "we  will  help.  We  have  come  to  get 
your  father  out  of  prison." 

The  vision  of  her  father  once  more  free;  that, 
rather  than  hope,  illumined  her  face.  Her 
little  body  swayed,  and  she  pressed  a  hand 
tightly  to  her  breast.  But  she  saw  in  a  moment 
how  finely  spun  the  vision  was.  These  three 
men,  foreigners,  so  oddly  assorted;  one  huge, 
slouching,  with  a  scowl;  another  big,  loose- 
jointed,  as  glum  as  Despair;  the  third  a  young 
fellow  in  outing  flannels,  too  airily  optimistic 
to  be  aught  but  inconstant,  erratic,  irresponsible 
—  these  three  men  of  a  distant  continent  pro- 
posed to  free  her  father,  despite  the  dungeons, 
the  spies,  the  armies,  of  Sylvanlitlan !  She  was 
a  clear-sighted  young  person,  and  she  half 
laughed  at  them.  Then  she  saw,  vividly,  a 
dark  niche  in  solid  masonry,  where  her  father 
lay,  and  walls  within  walls,  and  she  ceased  to 
smile.  Of  course,  there  was  no  hope. 

Yet  how  had  these  three  men  come  to  her? 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  89 

She  was  more  accustomed  to  seeing  jailers 
than  prospective  rescuers.  How,  then,  had  they 
passed  the  armed  power  of  Sylvanlitlan  at  the 
gate  ?  Did  they  even  intend  rescue  ? 

"You  don't  remember  me,  Miss,  I  see,"  said 
Jenkins.  "Not  being  in  conductor's  uniform, 
perhaps  that's  it.  But  you  and  your  aunt  were 
on  my  train  some  weeks  back,  and  we " 

"Yes,  yes,  now  I  remember." 

"Well,  Miss,"  said  Jenkins,  jerking  a  thumb 
at  Slag,  "I've  brought  the  snake  doctor." 

Slag,  darting  a  first  look  of  hate  at  his  friend, 
buttoned  his  coat,  coughed,  rubbed  his  chin, 
and  assumed  a  demeanour  of  immense  gravity. 
He  was  still  rubbing  his  chin  and  assuming 
demeanour,  at  a  loss  for  words  bereft  of  pro- 
fanity, when  the  Senorita  spoke  to  him.  With 
a  precise  little  air  of  business,  not  unlike  a  small 
lady  conferring  over  a  piece  of  work  with  the 
plumber,  she  asked  Jailbreaker  Slag  if  a  tunnel 
would  not  be  the  best  way. 

Mr.  Slag  brightened.  He  was  as  the  undis- 
covered artist  who  finds  the  boon  of  sympathetic 
appreciation. 


90  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"Well,  you  see,  Miss — uh,  Miss  de  Las 
Augustias " 

"Miss  Bess  will  do,"  she  interposed,  "and 
then  you  will  save  so  much  time." 

"Miss  Bess;  well,  you  see  about  tunnels, 
I  don't  ever  use  'em,  not  if  there's  a  handier 
way.  Still,  that's  not  sayin', "  he  added  defe- 
rentially, "but  what  a  tunnel  does  make  a  neat 
job  and  a  swell  get-away."  He  was  somewhat 
reluctant  to  forego  tunnels  himself. 

"Do  you  think  —  do  you  really  think,"  ex- 
claimed the  girl,  "that  you  can  bring  about 
my  poor  father's  escape  ?" 

"Uh,  well,  Miss  —  no  cure,  no  pay,  of  course." 

"Oh,  you  will  free  him,  I  know!"  The  hope 
was  forlorn,  but  —  well,  Jenkins  was  right  in 
his  snake  -  doctor  psychology.  Her  emotion 
stirred  in  Slag  a  vague,  mellowing  disquiet. 

"Aw,  we'll  not  talk  about  pay.  We'll  talk  about 
—  about  doctors.  Now,  what  do  doctors  do 
with  a  man  that's  all  tangled  up  in  a  hard  knot 
o*  fever?  Why,  they  dope  him,  that's  what 
they  do,  till  they  shove  him  into  some  other 
kind  of  fever  that  they  can  stampede.  Take 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  91 

your  pa,  Miss  Bess,  for  'n  instance,  mebbe  we 
can't  git  him  out  o'  that  prison,  but,"  he  added 
hastily,  because  her  look  tore  his  leathery  heart, 
"but  there  ought  to  be  some  other  place  we  can 
git  him  out  of,  don't  you  see  ?  " 

"No,  I'm  afraid  I  don't." 

"Listen;  where'd  they  put  him,  'sposin'  he 
was  took  real  sick?" 

"  Sick  ?  "     He  frightened  her. 

The  jailbreaker  explained,  the  while  leering 
craftily  from  one  to  the  other.  He  was  sure 
that  there  was  a  hospital  annex  to  the  peniten- 
tiary, since  prisoners  in  a  Latin-American  coun- 
try so  often  arrive  in  a  hacked-up  fix.  Wasn't 
there  a  "hospittle"  at  all  ? 

:<Yes,"  said  Jenkins,  there  was  the  Hospital 
Militar. 

But  was  it  off  by  itself,  or  plum*  in  the 
middle  o'  town  somewhere  ?  —  It  was  by  itself 
out  on  the  Paseo,  across  from  the  penitentiary. 
The  statue  of  Don  Pedro  I.  stood  in  front  of  it. 

The  jailbreaker  received  this  with  a  grunt 
of  satisfaction.  Next  he  wanted  to  know  about 
the  walls  and  windows  of  the  hospital. 


92  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

The  girl  herself  eagerly  replied.  The  hospital 
was  a  group  of  small  buildings,  or  wards,  and 
they  were  all  enclosed  in  a  compound  surrounded 
by  a  high  wall. 

"An*  that's  where  they  put  sick  prisoners, 
you  say?" 

"If  they  are  very  sick,  there's  a  separate  ward 
for  them.'* 

"All  good  enough,"  said  Slag,  "an*  now  I'm 
sorry  to  tell  you,  Miss,  that  your  father  is  liable 
to  be  a  very  sick  man." 

Her  eagerness  vanished. 

"Only  just  a  sore,"  he  added  soothingly, 
"nice  an'  ugly,  you  know,  on  the  cheek,  that 
will  look  like  blood  poison  and  coffin  fittin's 
immediate." 

The  girl  shuddered. 

"At  least  I'mtakin'  it,"  said  Slag,  "that  they 
ain't  wantin'  him  to  die  —  yet  ?" 

"No,  no!" 

"Just  so;  then  they'll  hustle  him  over  to  that 
there  hospittle  to  keep  him  goin'  till  he  makes 
his  will  an'  testimony  an'  tells  where  he's 
hid  the  money.  Aw,  'tain't  nothin'  to  feel 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  93 

so  bad  about,  Miss.  The  beggars  in  Mexico 
do  it,  just  a  scratch  an'  some  acid  an'  a 
blisterin'  powder,  an'  I  bet  you'd  hunt  your 
pocketbook  for  any  beggar  with  a  cheek  like 
that." 

"  My  father  is  not  a  beggar,"  she  said. 

"But  he's  worse  off,  ain't  he?  Mebbe  we'd 
better  fix  him  on  both  cheeks." 

The  girl  resolutely  put  the  horror  of  it  from 
her,  and  listened  stoically.  She  agreed  to  repeat 
the'  jailbreaker's  message  to  her  father;  but, 
there  was  a  difficulty,  a  serious  difficulty,  and 
the  corners  of  her  mouth  quivered  into  a  faint 
smile.  They  did  not  know  her  father;  he  was 
so  ridiculously  stubborn,  poor  dear.  How 
could  she  suggest  this  sham  of  beggars  to  him  ? 
He  would  not  be  more  hurt  if  she  joined  his 
persecutors.  To  take  poison  for  her,  to  stab 
himself,  that  was  little  to  ask  of  him;  but 

this  other No,  they  certainly  did  not 

know  her  father. 

Slag's  brows  knitted  over  his  heavy  eyes. 
Here  were  obstacles  new  to  his  profession. 
Jenkins,  morose,  Roman-nosed,  hatchet-faced, 


94  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

was  more  direct.  He  did  not  consider  the 
obstacles  at  all. 

"  You  will  coax  him  to  it,  Miss  Bess,"  he  said. 
"And  you'll  have  to  do  it  quick.  We  must  try 
to  get  your  father  put  in  the  hospital  before 
Colonel  Morder  comes  back." 

"Colonel  Morder!"  she  repeated. 

The  name  awakened  both  alarm  and  detesta- 
tion. She  knew  that  Morder  had  been  out  of 
the  country.  Her  aunt,  the  Dona  Pepita,  fat, 
placid,  but  with  the  enterprise  of  the  curious, 
brought  home  the  gossip  in  high  circles.  The 
servants  brought  back  the  talk  of  the  street. 
Morder  was  expected  back  on  the  last  boat, 
the  Leviathan,  and  Bess  supposed  that  he  had 
already  returned. 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Jenkins,  "because  Bub 
here  asked  him  to  stay  behind,  and  he  did,  just 
as  he  asked  that  watch- dog  at  your  gate  to  let 
us  in,  and  he  did.  Bub's  a  precautions  lad, 
Miss  Bess." 

Miss  Bess,  however,  had  no  time  for  Der- 
ringer's exploits,  though  Derringer  had  all 
eternity  for  Miss  Bess.  He  was  watching  her 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  95 

intently.  He  would  be  doing  that  in  any  case, 
but  her  distress  on  hearing  Morder's  name 
set  his  thoughts  to  racing.  He  recalled  his 
inference  that  night  in  Galveston,  that  Morder 
was  pursuing  the  daughter  of  his  prisoner,  and 
in  the  light  of  this  knowledge  Derringer  inter- 
preted the  girl's  pallor  now.  With  which 
keener  insight  the  young  man  came  to  the  aid 
of  his  two  companions.  He  could  tell  the 
Senorita  how  she  might  pursuade  her  father 
to  acids  and  powders.  It  was  a  delicate  argu- 
ment for  a  strange  man  to  hint  to  a  girl,  but 
Derringer  was  thinking  entirely  of  the  girl,  and 
he  drove  to  it  boldly. 

"Senorita,"  he  began,  "would  your  father 
refuse  to  do  as  Slag  says,  if  he  knew  it  was  on 
your  account  also  ?" 

She  turned,  and  the  brown  eyes  questioned  him 
patiently.  She  was  not  the  one  in  prison,  she  said. 

"No,"  replied  Derringer,  "nor  is  Colonel 
Morder." 

Again  a  fluttering  terror  whitened  her  cheeks. 

"And  your  father,"  added  Derringer,  "knows 
nothing  of  this  peril  to  you." 


96  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

"Of  course  he  does  not,  sir,  or  he  would  make 
me  leave  Sylvanlitlan.  That  is  why  I  have  not 
told  him." 

"Just  the  same,"  said  Derringer  bluntly, 
"you  must  tell  him  now,  and  you  must  tell  him 
also,  that  you  intend  to  remain  here  as  long  as 
he  is  in  prison." 

"And  then,  sir?" 

"And  then  he  will  do  anything  to  get  out." 

"To  be  sure  he  will." 

"  Sure  as  love  and  death,  Seiiorita,  the  dignity 
of  a  Don  Pedro  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding." 

The  girl  turned  to  Slag.  "Very  well,"  she  said, 
"  I  will  send  a  woman  to  market  to-morrow." 

"Good  enough,"  said  Slag.  "An'  as  she 
passes  by  the  hotel  she  will  stumble  and  spill 
her  basket." 

"Rice  and  frijoles  and  lamb  chops,"  added 
the  girl.  "So  now  I  know  what  to  pray  for  — 
acid  and  powder,  acid  and  powder.  My  poor 
obstinate  father!" 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

WHEN  the  Senorita's  servant,  plodding 
along  with  a  loaded  market  basket 
and  staring  at  a  vendor  of  python- 
skins  just  ahead,  had  stumbled  to  her  knees  and 
over  her  basket  in  front  of  the  Hotel  Bolivar; 
when  an  American  leaning  his  uncouth  bulk 
against  the  archway  of  the  hotel  entrance  had 
jeered;  when  the  American  and  the  woman  and 
the  vendor  of  python-skins  and  three  bootblacks 
had  scrambled  for  rolling  fruit  and  scooped  up 
the  leguminous  contents  of  broken  paper  sacks; 
when  the  basket's  cargo  had  been  restored, 
with  two  parcels  in  two  more  sacks  added ;  when 
the  Senorita's  servant  was  once  more  homeward 
bound;  then  Messrs.  Slag,  Jenkins  &  Derringer, 
a  firm  of  jailbreakers  operating  in  South  America, 
discovered  that  there  was  nothing  further  for 
them  to  do  except  to  wait. 

Mr.   Jenkins,   incidentally,   had  to  take  his 

vt 


98  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

train  as  usual  down  to  the  coast,  and  bring  her 
up  the  hill  again,  approximating  the  schedule 
desired  and  dreamed  of  by  a  visionary  train- 
master of  the  Ferrocarril  Internacional  de  Syl- 
vanlitlan  y  Nueva  Andalusia. 

The  remaining  two  partners  had  leisure 
only.  One  of  them  pondered  on  walls  and  com- 
pounds and  hospital  buildings.  The  other 
likewise  was  pensive.  But  his  mind's  eye 
dwelt  not  on  walls.  Merely  the  dainty  high 
heel  of  a  lady's  shoe  filled  his  vision.  There 
was  creme  de  menthe  in  the  Cafe  Bolivar,  and 
he  spent  the  day  in  dusting  off  an  old  broken- 
down  resolution.  It  had  the  effect  of  making 
him  thirst  greatly,  though  vainly,  after  a 
Scotch  highball.  The  lad  was  very  human, 
indeed. 

One  evening,  several  days  later,  he  sat  hi  the 
Plaza  under  the  palms  and  the  moon,  and 
listened  to  the  band,  and  wished  that  the  glorious 
Bess  might  also  be  hearing  that  "Ai  monte 
ritornoremo"  business  from  the  "Trovatore." 
Other  pretty  girls  were  out.  He  thought  that 
he  could  spare,  say  twenty  of  them,  to  have  her 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  99 

there  in  their  stead.  He  was  checking  off  the 
twenty,  one  by  one,  as  they  passed  under  the 
arc  lights,  when  a  gay  voice  of  recognition  made 
him  lose  count. 

"Oh,  I  have  talk'  with  her,  with  the  Senorita. 
She  come  to-day  to  see  her  papa.  He  is  seek, 
so  seek  of  the  face.  We  mus'  send  him  at  the 
hospi-tale;  I  think  to-morrow,  yes." 

It  was  the  jubilant  Major  De  Marzi,  twirling 
upward  his  moustache  militaire.  With  a  clank- 
ing of  sabre  and  tinkling  of  spurs,  the  young 
officer  dropped  beside  Derringer  on  the  bench. 
He  was  too  friendly  to  be  repulsed.  Moreover, 
the  young  Texan  was  glad  of  his  wicked  and 
lightsome  company.  Still,  the  young  Texan 
could  have  wished  that  the  Senorita  had  talked 
with  some  one  else. 

"Make  out  all  right  with  your  English?"  he 
inquired. 

The  Major  kissed  his  finger-tips.  "Splen- 
deed.  She  say  in  Spanish  if  she  can  see  her 
papa,  and  I  say,  'Yes,  Miss  Senorita/  and  she 
say  'Gracias*  —  Spanish  thanks  —  and  pass  on 
in." 


100  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

"Well,  I  declare,"  said  Derringer,  "that  was 
going  some,  wasn't  it?" 

"Oh,  but  we  have  not  finish'.  When  she 
come  out,  she  say  Spanish  thanks  again,  and  I 
say  it  is  not  mention',  and  what  she  do?  She 
look  at  me  and  smile,  she  is  so  surprise'  at  my 
Anglish.  And  I  help  her  go  in  her  carriage, 
and  I  help  her  aunt  —  Oh,  yes,  I  forget  Aunt 
Pepita  —  and  she  say  'Good  morning,'  like 
that,  in  Anglish.  In  Anglish,  senor!  Ai,  ai,  I 
know  she  can  no  long  re-sist,  no." 

Derringer  held  back  a  retort  on  his  tongue. 
"I  shouldn't  wonder,"  he  drawled  lazily, 
"but  that  she  would  talk  a  heap  more  English 
if  you  would  let  her  father  escape.  Say,"  he 
cried,  "that's  a  great  scheme.  Why  don't 
you?" 

De  Marzi  half  jumped  off  the  bench.  The 
question  was  peril.  It  voiced  either  the  dread 
or  the  prayers  of  all  Sylvanlitlan.  But  the 
mercurial  De  Marzi  gave  only  the  first  start. 
"  Of  what  good,  senor  ?"  he  laughed.  "  The  ol' 
Don  Pedro,  he  die  soon  and  save  the  trouble. 
We  beseech  him  make  his  will.  Then  he  die 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  101 

ennyhow. — Ah,  our  Senor  Presidente,"  he 
reverently  exclaimed,  "he  is  a  ve-ry  smart 
man." 

"Certainly  a  very  nice  man,"  said  Derringer. 
"Nice  music." 

"  So-so.     You  like  our  coontry  ?" 

"Very  nice  country.  Everything  nice.  I 
think  I'll  stay  a  while." 

"Busy-ness,  no?" 

"And  pleasure.  Wonder  if  it  would  be  any 
sport  rescuing  that  girl's  father.  And  if  I  did, 
you  think  she'd  talk  to  me,  too?" 

The  Major  laughed,  but  noting  the  gravity  of 
the  American's  countenance  to  the  last  freckle, 
he  left  off  laughing.  He  floundered.  He  was 
puzzled. 

"You  won't  feel  bad,  Major?  My  idea, 
you  know." 

"You  are  ve-ry  funny  man,"  returned  the 
Major  quietly,  "but  maybe  we  can  be  ser'ous 
also.  You  like  to  know  how  so?  One,  two, 
three,  zass!"  He  thrust  an  imaginary  rapier. 
"I  keel  you  now,  if  you  like." 

"Help  yourself." 


102  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

De  Marzi  considered.  "No,"  he  said,  "I 
decide  some  other  time.  You  are  so  good 
com-panny,  and  I  am  lone-lee." 

"All  right,  then,  let's  go  and  have  a  creme  de 
menthe." 

The  two  young  Americans  of  two  Americas, 
the  hot-blooded  one  of  the  Equator  linking  an 
arm  in  his  companion's,  crossed  the  street  from 
the  Plaza  and  entered  the  Cafe  Bolivar.  But 
here  also  was  boredom.  They  tired  of  it  in 
fifteen  minutes.  Yearning  in  the  strains  of 
music,  the  moonlight,  the  subtle  teasing  calm 
of  the  tropical  night,  these  matters  made  the 
youngsters  restive  and  long  for  they  knew  not 
what.  The  Texan  shoved  his  half-emptied 
glass  from  him  with  a  petulant  gesture.  "  What 
next  ?"  he  challenged.  De  Marzi  saw  adventure 
rampant  in  the  mild  blue  eyes. 

"Goddam,  I  do  not  know  what  next,"  he 
answered  mournfully.  "To  make  love.  —  To 
fight.  —  But  who  at  ?  Tell  me  who  at,  senor. 
I  do  not  know." 

"If  Colonel  Morder  were  here." 

De  Marzi  suddenly  choked,  and  spat  viciously 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  103 

on  the  floor.  His  handsome  face  was  contorted. 
One  thought  of  fangs  and  venom. 

"My  Colonel.  —  Ah,"  he  cried  longingly,  "he 
is  a  bootiful  swordsman.  But  no,  I  mus'  wait 
a  leetle." 

Derringer  kicked  back  his  chair.  He  could 
almost  taste  Scotch  whiskey.  "Let's  get  out 
of  here.  That  whining  thing  they're  playing 
out  there  worms  into  my  capacity  for  sitting 
still.  If  you  can't  bring  on  something  doing, 
Major,  I'm  going  upstairs  to  read  a  book." 

They  were  both  in  a  mind  for  mischief. 

"Oh-la,  I  have  it,"  cried  De  Marzi.  "We 
will  go  —  amigo,  we  will  go  pay  real  nice  visits 
to  the  Senorita.  And  you,  my  fren',  you  will 

make  converse  with  Aunt  Pepita,  and  I " 

'Yes,  you  will!  Have  you  ever  called  out 
there  before?" 

"N-o.  But  I  tell  you  she  talk  Anglish  to  me 
to-day.  And  I  comman*  the  soldier  before  the 
gate,  and  we  pass,  and  at  the  house  they  be 
'fraid  not  let  in  Major  De  Marzi." 

"See  here,"  said  Derringer,  "do  you  mean 
you'd  break  in?" 


104  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

"Adio-dio,  why  not?    A  so  pretty  girl!" 

Lucifer  was  awake  now,  and  in  the  saddle. 
A  devil  to  match  leaped  up  in  the  young 
Texan. 

"A-l-1  right,  come  ahead!"  Blaze  Derringer 
looked  forward  to  a  high  old  time  now 
directly. 

Arm  in  arm  they  held  the  narrow  walk  in 
their  course  up  the  canon-like  street,  the  pet  of 
the  Presidente  shouldering  unwary  citizens  over 
the  curb,  and  so  they  came  to  the  Paseo  of 
Palms.  At  the  Don  Pedro  gate  the  sentry 
popped  out  of  his  box  and  cried,  "Halt  there!" 
De  Marzi  knocked  up  the  man's  bayonet  with 
his  sabre,  and  cursed  him  for  a  disrespectful 
imbecile,  whereat  the  dazed  creature  saluted,  and, 
being  so  ordered,  opened  the  gate.  De  Marzi 
stood  aside,  and  bowed.  "After  you,  sefior." 

"You  are  quite  sure  you  are  bound  to  do  this  ?  " 
asked  Derringer. 

"Ha,  the  serior  is  'fraid  ?     Mus'  I  go  alone ?" 

"No,"  and  Derringer  passed  through  the 
gate,  the  Major  following. 

The    mounds    of    earth    and    gaping    holes, 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  105 

revealed  under  the  trees  in  ghostly  patches  of 
moonlight,  seemed  more  than  ever  a  plundered 
graveyard.  De  Marzi,  all  the  accoutrements 
of  his  martial  estate  jangling  in  metallic  unison, 
strode  gaily  up  the  walk  toward  the  front  steps 
of  the  mansion.  Seeing  Derringer  hold  back, 
he  took  him  fraternally  by  the  elbow  to  hasten 
him  forward  on  their  adventure. 

"But,"  protested  Derringer,  "the  house  is 
dark.  It's  not  recognized  as  good  sport  to 
frighten  sleeping  women,  you  know." 

"Eh,  my  fren',"  the  other  laughed  mockingly, 
"you  are  the  frighten'  one." 

"At  least,"  said  Derringer,  "suppose  we  go 
around  the  house  first  to  see  if  there  are  any 
lights." 

"Bueno,"  De  Marzi  agreed,  leading  under  the 
side  windows  and  peering  up,  "for  maybe  I 
discover  which  is  her  room."  He  kissed  his 
finger-tips.  "Ai,  ai,  senor  mio,  I  am  good  at 
climbing." 

"The  deuce  you  are,"  said  Derringer.  "But 
no  matter,  here  is  a  good  place,  where  the 
guard  can't  hear  us." 


106  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

"How  so  ?     Why  you  take  off  your  coat  ?" 

"To  decide,"  said  Derringer,  "whether  we 
do  or  don't  intrude  on  a  nice  girl.  Take  off 
your  own,  quick!" 

"Ho,"  cried  the  Major  in  Spanish,  his  English 
forgotten,  "this  is  better  than  I  thought!  Both 
fight  and  make  love,  eh?  Fight  first,  eh? 
But,  senor  mio,  you  have  no  weapon?" 

"Fists  for  mine,"  said  the  Texan.  "Quick 
now,  strip." 

"Fists?"  The  first  note  of  anger  grated  in 
the  Major's  tone.  "So,  so,  that  is  insult,  and 
now  I  decide  to  kill.  On  guard,  senor!"  —  He 
drew  his  sabre.  —  "And  in  the  morning,  you  are 
found  dead,  here.  They  will  say  you  were  hunting 
Don  Pedro's  treasure,  and  the  Presidente,  he 
will  speak  a  thousand  thanks  to  his  dear,  faithful 
De  Marzi.  —  Zassl "  He  lunged  with  the  sabre. 

Derringer  could  think  of  nothing  better  than 
to  keep  out  of  the  way.  He  jumped  back, 
and  struck  a  pillar  behind  him.  A  glance  over 
his  shoulder  showed  him  that  he  was  backing 
into  what  he  had  named  the  Vine-entangled 
Loggia  of  the  High-heeled  Shoe.  He  laughed, 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  107 

thinking  of  newspaper  headlines.  —  Lady's 
Bower  Turned  into  a  Shambles.  —  He 
stooped  to  clear  the  vines,  and  darted  around  the 
pillar  just  as  De  Marzi  essayed  a  full  arm  sweep. 
The  sabre  rang  against  the  pillar  and  broke. 
Whereupon  De  Marzi  plunged  into  the  vines, 
but  he  caught  a  spur  in  the  mesh  and  lurched 
headlong.  His  fall  was  somewhat  the  heavier 
because  as  he  fell  Derringer  was  on  his  back. 
Over  and  over  they  rolled  on  the  stone  floor, 
De  Marzi  letting  out  little  gleeful  yelps  as  he 
groped  for  a  strangle  hold.  Derringer  was 
enjoying  himself  also,  but  he  was  more  quiet 
and  business-like. 

Abruptly  they  were  aware  that  they  scuffled 
and  spluttered  and  wrestled  in  a  circle  of  light. 
Derringer,  rolling  over,  saw  that  the  light  came 
from  a  lamp.  De  Marzi,  rolling  over,  saw  that 
the  lamp  was  held  by  a  chubby  and  agitated  hand. 
"Ai,  Aunt  Pepita,  good  evening,"  he  shouted 
as  he  vanished  under  Derringer.  Then  they 
stopped  rolling,  and  lay  blinking  up  at  the 
lamp,  and  up  at  Dona  Pepita,  fat,  placid,  but 
with  the  enterprise  of  the  curious.  She  gazed 


108  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

down  on  the  erstwhile  kaleidoscopic  young  men 
with  wide-open  and  startled  eyes. 

"Bless  me  the  saints,"  she  gasped.  "What 
do  you  two  boys  signify  by  fighting  on  my  back 
porch  in  this  manner  ?  Now  get  up  at  once, 
do  you  hear?  Vdlgame  Dios,  I  was  so  fright- 
ened; I  thought  you  were  the  cats!  Get  up 
from  there,  I  say!" 

Derringer  scrambled  to  his  feet,  dusting  off 
his  clothes,  and  when  he  ventured  to  look  at  her 
and  met  her  indignant  gaze,  he  grinned.  And, 
by  a  psychologic  alchemy  unfathomable  to  the 
male  sex,  that  grin  won  her  heart.  Then  De 
Marzi  got  to  his  feet,  and  when  the  Dona 
opened  her  mouth,  for  this  was  no  affair  to 
pass  over  in  silence,  he  kissed  her  a  rousing  one 
squarely  on  the  cheek.  So  he,  likewise,  won 
her  heart,  though  she  nearly  lost  the  lamp  for 
the  resounding  box  on  the  ear  she  gave 
him. 

"Now  march,  both  of  you,"  she  ordered  like 
a  brigadier.  "No,  you  don't,  not  that  way.  — 
Into  the  house!  —  There  is  much  more  to  be 
said;  indeed  yes.  —  March!" 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  109 

The  door  opening  on  the  loggia  was  ajar, 
and  she  herded  them  in,  scolding  under  her 
breath  as  she  followed  with  the  lamp.  They 
went,  like  schoolboys,  yet  not  tremendously 
alarmed.  Anticipation,  or  rather,  the  uncer- 
tainty of  what  to  anticipate,  set  tingling  the 
fibres  of  youth.  And  especially  was  this  true 
of  the  Texan,  for  he  was  never  forgetting  for 
a  minute  that  there  was  a  girl  who  lived  in  this 
house. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

THEY  went  through  an  arched  passage 
into  the  patio  of  the  old  dwelling, 
where  a  fountain  sparkled  in  the  moon- 
light, and  the  fragrance  of  lime  blossoms 
filled  the  air,  and  broad-leaved  banana  plants 
rose  higher  even  than  the  upper  gallery  that 
overlooked  the  court  on  its  four  sides.  Double 
doors  of  glass  opened  on  the  patio  from  various 
rooms,  and  one  was  partly  open,  as  they  immedi- 
ately perceived  because  of  a  green-tinted  glow 
of  light  within. 

"Here,  sefiores,"  said  the  implacable  Dona, 
directing  them  to  the  door  that  was  partly  open. 
They  meekly  obeyed,  and  entered  a  room 
that  was  spacious,  where  there  were  large  easy- 
chairs,  and  an  enormous  mahogany  table  lighted 
by  a  green  globe  lamp.  There  was  a  square 
piano,  strewn  with  music.  There  was  a  group 
of  sectional  bookcases,  varnished  and  modern, 

no 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  111 

filled  with  home-like,  worn  bindings.  Servants 
of  the  house,  men  and  women,  the  men  armed 
with  antique  weapons  from  the  grand  salon, 
one  "A'ith  a  blunderbuss,  another  with  a  halberd, 
a  third  with  a  broadsword,  stared  at  them  in  a 
mixture  of  panic  and  menace. 

At  the  table,  beside  her  chair,  stood  the  girl 
concerning  whom  the  two  young  men  had 
fought.  The  book  she  had  been  reading  lay 
open  on  the  table,  carefully  faced  downward  so 
that  she  might  not  lose  her  place.  In  contrast, 
as  the  warm  abandon  of  Spanish  blood  contrasts 
with  books,  a  guitar  wyas  on  the  floor  at  her  feet. 
The  girl  herself  revealed  the  like  quaint  blend  of 
the  precise  with  the  impulse  and  throbbing  of  all 
that  is  of  the  South.  She  seemed  a  trim  bit  of 
New  England  among  magnolia  blossoms.  Her 
brow  was  high  and  white,  and  the  brown  hair 
was  brushed  back  severely,  yet  only  to  wave 
rebellion  in  little  tendrils.  Her  manner  was 
prim,  deliciously  prim,  except  when  the  full 
blood  of  her  race  swept  it  aside.  Her  cheeks 
were  soft  and  pink,  and  her  lips  were  scarlet. 
A  child  of  warmth  and  passion  had  been  to 


112  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

school  in  Boston.  The  manner  of  sweet  and 
precise  little  woman  who  had  returned  was  yet 
she  whom  Derringer  in  his  thoughts  called  his 
glorious  Bess.  The  lure  was  there,  there  was 
no  doubt  about  that.  The  Texan  trusted  his 
instincts;  at  least,  he  resisted  them  not.  He 
frankly  revelled  in  that  he  was  vanquished. 

Her  level  gaze  met  the  two  young  men  as 
they  entered.  The  servants  stirred  menacingly, 
and  she  dismissed  them  to  their  quarters.  She 
had  not  called  them,  and  they  were  not  to  burst 
on  her  so  at  every  alarm.  Thus  spoke  the 
chatelaine.  Then  her  gaze  rested  inquiringly 
again  on  the  two  young  men. 

"How  they  startled  me!"  said  Dona  Pepita, 
palpitating  yet.  "I  feared  certainly  that  the 
cats  had  the  parrot.  But,"  pinioning  them  by 
a  gesture  of  disdain,  "such  as  they  are,  I  have 
brought  them  to  you." 

In  this  wise  were  they  delivered  before  the 
seat  of  judgment. 

"Indeed,"  said  the  girl;  "and  won't  you  take 
them  away  again,  please?" 

Derringer  was  looking  into  her  eyes,  a  thing 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  113 

he  could  not  help.  Her  words  brought  him 
nearer  the  earth,  and  he  pointed  a  thumb  at  his 
fellow  captive.  "The  Major  will  now  explain," 
he  announced. 

De  Marzi  glared  at  Derringer,  restlessly 
passed  his  fingers  over  the  brass  buttons  of 
his  torn  jacket,  and  stole  a  glance  at  the  girl. 
She  looked  so  pretty  that  he  took  courage. 

;'We  will  espeek  the  Anglish,"  he  began. 

"You  need  not  speak  at  all,  Major  De  Marzi," 
said  she.  "Or  rather,  you  may,  to  tell  us  why 
you  have  used  your  position  to  intrude 
here?" 

"Ai,  young  men,"  said  the  Dona,  "I  feel 
sorry  for  you  now.  My  faith,  I  do ! " 

A  quick  smile  curved  the  girl's  lips.  She 
knew  the  good  soul's  weakness  for  young  men. 
"  Won't  you  sit  down,  my  aunt,  before  you  drop 
that  lamp  ?  —  Now,  Major  De  Marzi,  I  am 
waiting." 

"Dios  mio"  cried  the  hard-pressed  Major 
in  Spanish,  "we  came  to  call,  that  is  all." 

"And  stopped  to  fight  like  ragamuffins  on 
my  back  porch,"  added  Dona  Pepita. 


114  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"Not  I,  Senorita,"  protested  the  Major. 
"Ask  the  American.  It  is  his  fault,  for  he 
decides,  presto!  that  we  do  not  call.  And  he 
takes  off  his  coat.  —  Fists,  ai  de  mi!" 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  the  Senorita,  darting  a 
swift  glance  at  Derringer.  The  first  time  she 
had  seen  this  American,  he  was  allied  with 
jailbreakers.  And  to-night,  apparently,  he  was 
allied  with  jailors.  Yet  that  could  not  be, 
either,  for  he  had  fought  De  Marzi,  to  save 
her  from  De  Marzi's  visit.  At  once,  in  the 
natural  bent  of  her  race  for  intrigue,  supple- 
mented by  the  practical  training  of  the  Pilgrim 
daughters,  she  began  to  speculate  on  how  the 
intrusion  might  be  turned  to  account.  For  a 
time  she  looked  intently  at  nothing,  the  chestnut 
eyes  half  closing  and  opening  again. 

"Frankly,  Major  De  Marzi,"  she  spoke  at 
last,  "did  not  my  father's  money,  which  all  of 
you  insist  is  buried  here,  did  not  that  have  a  little 
to  do  with  your  prowling  excursion  to-night  ? " 

The  gallant  Major  was  distressed.  How 
cruelly  obstinate  was  the  Senorita,  that  she 
would  believe  naught  of  the  compliment  to 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  115 

herself  conveyed  in  his  presence  there!  Such 
was  the  purport  of  the  wounded  appeal  in  his 
black  eyes. 

She  seemed  to  relent.  ''Very  well,  Major 
De  Marzi,"  she  said,  "will  you  kindly  imagine 
that  I  give  you  a  chart " 

The  black  eyes  forgot  their  appeal. 
*  —  and   that   the   chart   indicates   where   a 
chest  —  a  heavy  chest,  I  believe  —  lies  buried  ?" 

The  eyes  gleamed  like  the  fire  in  black  opals. 
But  the  Major  let  that  betrayal  go  no  further. 
To  heavy  chests  he  was  indifferent.  Had  he 
not  assured  her  that  treasure,  the  buried  kind, 
was  not  the  object  of  his  quest  ?  —  Nevertheless, 
he  waited  expectantly. 

She  turned,  instead,  to  Derringer.  "And  you, 
sir,"  she  asked,  "what  would  you  do  with  such 
a  secret?" 

"Why,"  said  Derringer,  "I'd  go  and  dig  the 
thing  up,  of  course." 

She  laughed,  and  De  Marzi  bowed  mocking 
tribute  to  the  simplicity  of  the  American.  Then 
her  next  words  left  him  aghast. 

"That  being  the  case,"  she  said,  "and  as  I 


116  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

should  like  to  have  the  chest,  I  shall  ask  you, 
Senor  Americano,  to  be  so  kind  as  to  dig  it  up 
for  me.  Come,  and  we  will  look  for  the  chart." 

She  rang  for  a  servant,  and  the  woman  of  the 
market  basket  appearing,  she  bade  her  take 
the  Dona's  lamp,  nodded  to  Derringer,  and 
suggested  that  De  Marzi  wait  with  Aunt  Pepita. 
Derringer  soberly  assured  everybody  that  the 
Major  would  be  delighted  to  do  so. 

The  girl  went  ahead  with  the  servant,  Der- 
ringer following.  They  crossed  the  patio  into 
a  cavernous  hallway  that  ran  through  the  house 
to  the  heavy  front  doors.  The  ceiling  and  walls, 
as  the  lamp  dimly  showed,  were  panelled  in  oak. 
Before  a  velvet-curtained  arch  the  girl  stopped, 
taking  the  lamp.  Against  the  dark  red  of  the 
drapery  her  girlish  figure  was  outlined  in  filmy 
white,  and  as  Derringer  reached  her  side, 
she  turned  to  him  a  beaming  smile  of  friendliness, 
as  though  they  were  playmates  off  on  a  daring 
expedition.  Derringer,  for  a  reason  hidden  in 
the  mystery  and  instinct  of  chivalry,  took  care 
that  his  hand  did  not  touch  hers  as  she  gave 
him  the  lamp. 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  117 

"Here,  Sir  Aladdin,"  she  said,  parting  the 
curtains,  "is  the  cave  of  precious  charts.  Enter." 

"And  may  I  wish,"  he  asked,  looking  down 
into  her  eyes,  "may  I  wish  that " 

"Enter,"  she  repeated,  and  told  the  servant 
to  wait  for  them  there. 

He  passed  between  the  curtains,  feeling  like 
the  explorers.  He  believed  at  first  that  he  must 
be  out  of  doors,  for  the  sense  of  walls  was  lack- 
ing. He  peered  upward,  half  expecting  to 
see  the  stars.  He  made  out  big  squared  cypress 
beams,  and  he  knew  that  he  was  in  some  sort 
of  a  baronial  hall. 

The  Senorita  rubbed  the  toe  of  her  shoe  upon 
the  floor.  "This  is  where  we  used  to  dance," 
she  told  him.  He  thought  of  the  naive  remini- 
scent delight  of  a  country  lass  pointing  out  the 
barn  that  had  been  used  for  a  ball-room.  He 
nodded,  and  looked  about  him.  Far  away  he 
saw  a  slender  girl  in  white  and  a  young  fellow 
with  a  lamp.  Shifting  his  gaze,  he  saw  another 
far-away  slender  girl  and  young  fellow.  And 
at  every  angle,  there  they  were  again.  The 
reflections  were  in  mirrors,  very  long  and  heavily 


118  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

framed.  The  hugely  shrouded  bulk  of  cluster- 
ing candelabra  hung  from  the  centre  beam 
overhead.  — Where  they  used  to  dance!  This 
was  a  throne  room.  It  was  the  throne  room  of 
the  Augustias;  but  ransacked,  dismantled,  pil- 
laged, in  the  vandal  search  for  an  elusive 
treasure. 

"Now  then,v  said  the  girl,  "to  find  that 
wonderful  chart." 

"Senorita,  you  do  not  really  mean  — 

"Oh,  but  I  do,  though."  She  laughed  at 
the  importance  he  attached  to  it.  She  was 
elfin-like,  chirruping,  enraptured  over  their 
enterprise. 

She  went  down  the  room,  counting  off  the 
long  mirrors.  Before  one  she  stopped,  beckoned 
to  Derringer,  and  pulled  the  base  of  the  heavy 
gilt  frame  from  the  wall.  Derringer  at  her 
command  held  it  so,  and  she  darted  behind, 
drew  out  some  loosened  nails  from  the  planking 
of  the  mirror,  and  pried  back  one  of  the  boards. 
She  gave  a  little  cry  of  satisfaction  as  a 
scrap  of  paper  went  fluttering  to  the  floor. 
Since  long  before  she  was  born,  she  told  Der- 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  119 

ringer,  that  paper  had  lain  between  the  glass 
and  planking  of  the  mirror.  Derringer  was 
intent  on  the  yellowed  scrap  in  his  hand. 
If  a  chart  at  all,  it  was  no  more  than  a 
fourth  of  one,  the  upper  right-hand  corner  torn 
off  the  original  sheet.  At  the  top  was  written: 
Memo,  de  B.  B.  There  were  also  lines  or 
tracings,  but  these  broke  off  at  the  ragged  edges 
of  the  paper. 

She  enjoyed  his  perplexity.  "Do  you  know 
where  in  all  the  universe  those  broken  lines 
jump  off  to?"  she  asked.  No,  of  course  he 
did  not.  'Yet,'*  she  said,  "it  is  only  a  question 
of  exact  information,  as  you  would  know  if  you 
had  ever  been  'finished5  by  a  young  ladies' 
school  near  Boston.  To  be  quite  exact,  we 
will  count  three.  —  There,"  and  at  the  third 
mirror  beyond  she  stopped  again. 

"Of  course,"  said  Derringer,  "if  one  mirror 
holds  one  scrap  of  paper,  another  mirror 
might  hold  another  scrap.  It  is  only  a  question 
of  probabilities,  Miss  Bess,  as  you  would  readily 
grasp  if  you  had  ever  been  finished  at 
poker." 


120  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

"Do  you  think  you  are  very  wise?"  she 
inquired. 

"Enough  not  to  play  against  certainties," 
he  replied.  "You  knew  that  it  was  the  third 
mirror." 

Thus  the  young  scholastics,  alone  together, 
dealt  in  converse  that  lighted  no  fires,  or  — 
to  be  as  exact  as  Boston  —  that  fanned  none  into 
perilous  warmth. 

As  with  the  first  scrap  of  paper,  they  brought 
forth  two  more  instalments,  and  these  made 
the  chart  complete.  Derringer  pieced  the  scraps 
together,  and  she  held  the  light,  her  eyes  alive 
with  fun  as  she  watched  for  each  change  in  his 
expression.  At  last  he  made  an  abrupt  sound 
between  a  snort  and  a  chuckle.  He  had 
expected  cryptic  convolutions  worthy  of  a  Poe. 
Here  was  only  a  square  and  an  X  and  two  key 
words:  10  varas.  He  appreciated  the  anti- 
climax. 

"There's  a  heap  more  certainty  lacking," 
he  said. 

"And  that,  sir,"  said  she,  "is  why  so  many 
men  unearth  no  treasure.  The  square  you 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  121 

see  there  represents  the  wall  around  our 
house." 

'  Yes,  but  the  X  is  outside  the  wall  ?" 

"  Which,"  she  said,  "explains  why  they  have 
found  no  chest  inside.  But  you,  fortunate  and 
certain  one,  you  will  dig  outside,  here"  — she 
laid  a  finger  tip  on  the  X  —  "which  is  against 
the  east  side  wall,  at  a  point  ten  varas  from  the 
rear  corner.  And  right  there,"  she  concluded 
with  the  air  of  opening  a  five-cent  prize  box  for 
a  child,  "you  will  find  all  the  treasure  that  lies 
buried  on  these  premises." 

Derringer  carefully  folded  the  three  scraps 
of  paper  and  handed  them  back  to  her.  "Please 
tell  me  why  you  give  me  this  secret  ?" 

She  smiled  at  his  earnestness.  "Why?"  she 
repeated.  "Or  are  you  quite  dense?  Do  you 
not  want  the  —  whatever  the  chest  contains?" 

;<You  know,"  he  said,  a  little  impatiently, 
"that  De  Marzi  out  there  will  be  my  shadow 
henceforth  until  I  dig  up  the  chest.  You  are 
calculating  on  that,  Miss  Bess,  or  else  somebody 
else  is  dense.  Now  suppose  you  tell  me  frankly 
how  I  am  to  help  you  in  all  this  monkey- 


122  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

monkey-how-many-monkeys-are-there-here  busi- 
ness?" 

She  considered  him  gravely  for  a  moment. 
"The  swashbuckler  has  mentality,"  she  mused. 
"No,  I  was  not  mistaken." 

"Miss  Bess,"  insisted  Derringer,  "what  am  I 
to  do?" 

"Nothing,  and  forget,"  she  said.  "Major 
De  Marzi  will  demand  the  secret  of  this  chart. 
Give  it  to  him  and  forget." 

"And  you  imagine  that  then  this  Major 
fellow  will  annoy  you  no  more?"  She  nodded. 
"But  listen,"  he  went  on,  "don't  you  know 
that  they  will  kill  your  father  as  soon  as  this 
money  is  found?" 

"Oh,"  she  laughed,  "I  believe  you  are  a 
goose." 

"And  cackling  once  saved  a  considerable 
burg,"  he  retorted.  "Besides,  have  you  any 
right  to  buy  off  a  man's  annoyance  so  dearly, 
supposing,"  he  added,  noting  her  bright  red  lips, 
" that  a  buried  chest  is  really  the  cause?  Your 
father's  fortune  is  rather  a  price  to  pay,  you 
know. " 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  123 

Again  her  enigmatic  merriment  puzzled  him. 

"You  forget,  too,"  he  persisted,  "that  De 
Marzi  is  not  the  only  annoyance." 

The  fun  died  from  her  eyes.  He  had  touched 
a  flaw  in  her  merry  plot. 

"I  know,"  she  murmured  despairingly. 
;'You  mean  Colonel  Morder." 

"Oh,  pshaw,"  cried  Derringer  in  quick 
sympathy,  "don't  mind  him.  If  you  really 
know  what  you  are  doing  —  though  I  don't  — 
I  can  patch  up  your  net  to  catch  Morder  too." 

"Oh,  how?  tell  me  how!" 

"Easy  enough.  You  will  keep  the  chart, 
and  give  it  to  the  Colonel  himself  when  he 
returns." 

"Yes,  but " 

"De  Marzi?  Well,  he  won't  be  bothering 
you.  He  will  be  too  busy  shadowing  me." 

"And  you?  Tell  me  what  you  will  do  when 
Colonel  Morder  returns  and  possesses  this 
chart?" 

"I  will  do  this.  I  will  then  go,  the  very  same 
evening  of  the  day  when  you  give  him  the 
chart,  and  dig  at  X.  De  Marzi  will  follow  me, 


124  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

to  seize  the  fruits  of  the  digging  at  X.  And 
Morder  will  come  independently,  also  to  dig  at 
X." 

"Splendid!     Yes,  yes?" 

"The  chest  is  unearthed." 

She  closed  her  eyes,  saw  the  scene,  and 
applauded  with  her  finger-tips. 

"And  they  will  seize  the  chest  between  them," 
she  said. 

"Yes,"  he  replied.  He  did  not  perceive  the 
reason  for  quite  so  much  ecstasy.  Privately 
he  resolved  that  neither  of  the  scoundrels  should 
rob  her.  The  chest  itself,  that  was  different. 
Oh  yes,  he  would  let  them  have  the  chest. 


CHAPTER  NINE 

THE  following  morning,  while  Slag  and 
Derringer   were    at     breakfast     in    the 
glass-roofed  patio  that  was  the  dining- 
room  of  the  Hotel  Bolivar,  the  third  member  of 
the  jailbreaking  firm  joined  them  in  a  state  of 
crusty  gloom.     He  had  just  brought  his  train 
from  the  coast,  and  was  still  in  uniform. 

With  the  future  exigencies  of  jailbreaking 
tactics  in  mind,  Jenkins  had  contrived  to  get 
himself  changed  from  the  day  run  to  the  night 
run  on  his  division.  He  made  the  trip  down- 
hill to  Puertocito  by  the  sea  in  seven,  eight  or 
nine  hours,  according  to  wash-outs,  govern- 
mental interference,  hot  boxes,  and  other  things. 
After  a  day's  lay-over  at  Puertocito,  he  climbed 
the  hill  back  again,  in  nine,  eleven,  or  thirteen 
hours,  also  according.  Personally  he  strived 
to  arrive  at  the  Hotel  Boliver  in  time  for 
breakfast. 

125 


126  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"Pass  that  coffee-pot,  Con."  He  flung  his 
cap  on  the  floor,  and  sat  down.  Contortions 
twisted  his  hatchet  face  until  there  came  a  smile 
that  was  a  work  of  art  and  irony.  "Morder's 
back,"  he  observed  sweetly. 

Slag  ripped  out  the  oath  that  was  to  be 
expected.  "Hang  you,  anyway,  Jenkins,  ain't 
you  ever  got  nothin'  better  to  do  than  always 
comin'  round  with  a  frost-bitten  grin,  an'  a 
head-on  collision  up  your  sleeve?  Why  you 
don't  associate  alone  a  while,  an*  make  vinegar 
o'  yourself,  I  can't  see." 

"He's  back,  I  tell  you." 

"Why,"  said  Derringer,  "he  can't  be,  you 
know;  there's  no  boat  from  the  States  for  a 
week  yet." 

Jenkins  struck  the  table  palm  downward, 
and  a  half-dozen  mistaken  waiters  hastened 
toward  him. 

"  He,  Mor  —  Here,  you,  I  want  huevos,  fried 
on  both  sides,  sabe?  And  clear  on  away  from 
here. — Morder  got  off  my  train  not  ten  minutes 
ago,  I  tell  you.  Landed  yesterday  —  came  from 
Haiti  on  the  Dutch  Mail." 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  127 

"And  he  got  to  Haiti  by  a  boat  from  Gal- 
veston." 

"  'Less  he  walked  it." 

"  He  can't  be  here,"  Derringer  repeated,  "  but, 
seeing  that  he  is  . 

It  was  needless  to  project  the  thought  in  words. 
Slag's  patient  and  client,  Don  Pedro,  was  to 
have  been  transferred  from  prison  to  hospital 
that  morning;  and  now  here  was  Morder,  jeal- 
ous and  suspicious  of  De  Marzi,  and  certain  to 
countermand  De  Marzi' s  orders  regarding  the 
valuable  prisoner.  Slag  later  verified  these  fears. 
He  dragged  his  hulking  frame  up  and  down  the 
Paseo  all  morning,  between  the  gray  castellated 
walls  of  the  prison  on  one  side  and  the  low-walled 
compound  of  hospital  buildings  on  the  other.  Or 
he  sat  on  a  bench  under  a  royal  palm,  and  read 
Bertha  M.  Clay,  whom  he  admired  inordinately. 
Yet  he  saw  no  ambulance,  nor  other  conveyance, 
cross  the  Paseo  from  prison  to  hospital.  He 
so  reported  at  dinner,  whereupon  there  were 
words  of  a  saw-edge  because  young  Derringer 
would  not  be  downcast. 

"I  tell  you,  Cornelius,"  he  pleaded,  "I  just 


128  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

can't  seem  to  get  despondent.  Yes,  I  do  try, 
for  your  sake,  but  I  can't.  Didn't  any  carriage 
stop  at  the  penitentiary  at  all  ?" 

"One,"  said  Slag.  "One  with  our  Sefiorita 
girl  and  a  plump  lady.  But  what  of  it?  Do 
you  s'pose  the  Senorita  girl  asked  Morder  to 
please  to  change  his  mind?" 

The  young  Texan  stirred  his  black  coffee 
intently,  as  though  it  were  a  laboratory  experi- 
ment. Exaltation  tugged  at  the  corners  of  his 
lips,  and  excitement  in  prospect  distended  the 
freckled  eyelids. 

"Eh,  Blaze  Derringer,"  said  Jenkins,  "you're 
not  at  church.  You're  at  grub.  Slag  here 
was  asking  what  you  reckoned,  or  what  you 
didn't.  Now,"  he  implored  them  with  vast 
leisurely  sarcasm,  "let's  all  ca'm  down.  This 
here  kid  knows  something." 

"Maybe,"  Derringer  conceded,  "I  know  the 
day  isn't  half  over  yet.  Unless  the  jailbreakers' 
union  objects  to  a  full  day's  work,  let's  send 
Cornelius  for  another  stroll  on  the  Paseo  this 
afternoon.  Hurry,  Cornelius,  it's  time  the 
whistle  blew." 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  129 

"Go  yourself,"  said  Slag;  "what  are  you 
goin'  to  do?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Derringer  cheerfully, 
"though  I  might  go  out  on  the  Plaza  in  front 
and  sit  down  while  the  fountain  plays.  I've 
got  some  troubles  that  need  thinking  over." 

Slag  growled.  He  had  finished  Bertha  M. 
Clay,  and  he  was  tired  of  doing  all  the  work. 

"Never  mind,  Con,"  said  Jenkins.  "Just 
run  along  and  do  what  the  little  boy  says." 

And  Slag  did.  Behind  Jenkins's  prickly  sar- 
casm there  was  support  of  Derringer,  and  Slag 
instinctively  trusted  Jenkins's  discernment. 

Derringer  had  the  afternoon  to  himself,  and 
he  used  it  in  the  lazy  way  of  the  Tropics.  He 
found  a  shady  bench  on  the  Plaza,  and  he 
lounged  there  in  a  watchfulness  that  seemed 
drowsy  meditation.  A  servant  woman  trudg- 
ing through  the  Plaza  with  a  basket  of  alligator 
pears  could  not  resist  the  cool  spot,  and  she 
seated  herself  on  the  other  end  of  the  bench. 
After  a  time  the  murmur  of  the  fountain  and 
the  breathing  of  dozing  Nature  in  the  leaves 
overhead  put  her  to  sleep.  One  arm  lay  limp 


130  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

across  the  basket,  and  once,  when  she  stirred, 
the  brown  wrapping  paper  on  top  was  brushed 
off  and  fell  to  the  gravel  walk.  Her  eyes  opened, 
and  sighing  wearily,  she  took  up  the  basket 
and  shambled  off. 

Derringer  refilled  his  pipe,  gazing  dreamily 
at  the  fountain.  He  was  taken  with  a  notion 
to  make  a  sketch  of  that  fountain.  He 
sharpened  his  pencil,  picked  up  the  brown 
wrapping  paper  that  had  fallen  from  the  woman's 
basket,  smoothed  it  out  on  his  note  book,  touched 
the  pencil  point  to  his  tongue,  and  began  to 
sketch.  It  was  necessary  to  scratch  out  a  word 
that  happened  to  be  written  on  the  paper,  but 
he  made  the  scratches  answer  as  shading  for 
the  base  of  the  fountain.  Perhaps  the  word 
written  on  the  paper  should  be  mentioned. 

It  was:  "To-night." 

Derringer  did  not  think  much  of  his  sketch. 
He  rose,  yawned,  tore  up  the  sketch,  and  threw 
it  into  the  fountain.  He  languidly  crossed 
over  to  the  cafe  of  the  hotel,  and  had  an  iced 
sangria. 

Cornelius  Slag,  in  a  medley  of  bewilderment 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  131 

and  jubilance,  found  him  there.  With  him 
was  Jenkins. 

"I'm  not  understandin'  it  at  all,"  said  Slag. 
"First,  how  she  coaxed  Morder,  if  it  was  her, 
an'  second,  how  you  was  so  sure  she  would. 
What's  behind  this,  Blazer?  What  do  you 
know,  anyhow?" 

Derringer  knew  that  Bess  must  have  given 
Morder  the  original  chart  to  the  hidden  chest, 
and  that  the  chart  had  likely  availed  as  coaxing 
for  Morder.  But  he  said : 

"Suppose  you  tell  us  what  all  this  is  that 
Morder  has  been  doing?" 

"  They  must  'a'  been  a  regiment  of  'em." 

"Of  what?" 

"  Of  them  tin  soldiers  to  escort  the  ambulance 
across  the  Paseo  from  the  pen  to  the  hospittle. 
Sick  or  well  or  locked  up,  they're  sure  skairt  o' 
Don  Pedro.  This  here  case,"  declared  Mr* 
Slag,  "  is  going  to  make  my  rep." 

"Or  truncate  your  career,"  added  Derringer. 
"  How  long  are  ten  varas?" 

"About  as  many  yards.     Why?" 

"Because,"     said    Derringer,    "you    go   ten 


132  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

varas,  and  that's  where  you  dig  for  the  ambrosial 
cash." 

Then  he  had  to  explain  how  he  came  to 
possess  the  secret  of  the  buried  treasure.  They 
were  two  dumfounded  Americans  who  heard 
him. 

"But,"  protested  Jenkins,  "supposing  we  do 
dig  it  up,  it  ain't  ours  and  it  wouldn't  be  square 
to  -  -  " 

"Don't  matter  a  pewee,"  cried  Slag.  "Just 
let  us  git  holt  on  it  once,  an'  it's  security  for  our 
pay." 

"I  think,"  said  Derringer,  "that  we  will 
probably  give  it  back  to  Don  Pedro's  daugh- 
ter." 

They  had  to  wait  on  Slag's  profanity. 
t    "Oh,  very  well,"  said  Derringer,  "then  we 
won't  dig  it  up." 

"  We  won't,  hey  ?  Oh,  won't  we  ?  Oh,  we'll 
let  Morder  do  it,  eh  ?  If  our  Senorita  girl  loses 
her  money,  how's  she  goin'  to  pay  us  for  freein' 
her  dad?" 

"Exactly  what  I  was  thinking." 

"We  got  to  save  it  for  her,  that's  a  cinch." 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  133 

"Of  course,"  said  Derringer. 

They  had  to  go  that  very  night.  The  one 
word  on  the  brown  wrapping  paper  made  that 
plain.  Morder  had  the  chart,  and  Morder 
would  profit  by  the  first  hour  of  darkness  to 
possess  the  buried  chest.  Also  there  was  Major 
De  Marzi.  The  reckless  De  Marzi,  knowing 
that  Derringer  had  the  secret,  would  not  be 
far  behind.  Prospects  were  fair  for  a  three- 
cornered  excavation  and  a  three-cornered  clash. 
Jenkins  grew  more  and  more  crusty.  He  had 
to  take  his  train  down  the  hill,  and  so  would 
be  among  those  not  present. 

It  was  dusk  when  Slag  and  Derringer  left 
the  hotel  after  an  early  supper.  As  they  passed 
the  cafe,  out  stepped  Major  De  Marzi,  his  sabre 
pounding  against  his  leg.  He  made  no  secret 
of  his  purpose  to  follow  them.  Derringer 
turned, and  called  to  him  cordially  to  come  along. 
The  young  South  American  accepted,  and  Slag 
grumbled  blasphemy.  Derringer  was  untroubled. 
He  and  De  Marzi  locked  arms  as  boon  com- 
panions and  swashbucklers  might,  and  minded 
peevish  old  Slag  not  at  all.  Where  the  walk 


134  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

became  narrow,  Slag  had  to  fall  behind,  and  he 
muttered  and  spluttered  all  the  way. 

Darkness  was  thickening  over  the  cactus  plain 
off  toward  the  mountains  when  they  gained 
the  Paseo.  At  the  vacant  space  next  the  Don 
Pedro  gardens  Derringer  halted. 

"I'm  afraid,  Major,"  he  said,  "you  will  have 
to  show  us  the  way  now." 

"I,  amigo?"  De  Marzi  laughed.  "By 
Jurge,  if  I  know  the  way,  you  theenk  I  wait  for 
you  ?  Why  you  delay  ?" 

Derringer  waved  a  hand  over  the  cacti.  "  Too 
many  thorns." 

"u4i,  you  find  them  in  Sylvanlitlan  then." 

Derringer  chided  him.  "Major,  you  are  too 
obvious.  Do  you  think  we  are  a  costume 
play?" 

"I  not  understan'  what  you  mean,  but  it  is 
all  ri'."  He  unsheathed  the  sabre.  "The 
sword  for  thorns.  So  —  so  —  so ! " 

The  spiny  brush  fell  before  him,  and  the  two 
Americans  followed  in  his  wake. 

"How  far,  mi  capitan?"  De  Marzi  called 
over  his  shoulder. 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  135 

"The  length  of  Don  Pedro's  side  wall  here. 
Then  to  your  left,  and  the  length  of  his  back 
wall." 

"Ai  de  mi!"  panted  De  Marzi.  Yet,  as 
he  would  not  trust  his  sword  out  of  his  hands, 
he  had  to  cut  the  swath  the  entire  distance. 
Slag  ceased  grumbling  to  chuckle,  and  patted 
Derringer  on  the  back. 

The  far-spreading  trees  in  the  garden  brushed 
the  top  of  the  wall  and  rustled  their  leaves  over- 
head. The  desolate  plain  behind  had  lost  its 
hue  of  dull  purple,  and  under  the  branches  it 
was  night.  They  reached  the  far  corner  of 
the  rear  wall,  and  stopped.  Slag  breathed 
heavily,  his  great  fingers  clutching  and  opening. 
De  Marzi,  dripping  perspiraton,  wet  his  lips 
with  his  tongue.  The  virus  of  gold-lust  was 
in  their  veins.  They  waited  greedily  on  Der- 
ringer. 

;'  Where  did  the  sun  go  down?"  asked  Der- 
ringer. 

They   thought   this   persiflage,   and   said   so. 

"All  right,  then,  whenever  you're  ready  to 
go  back  ... 


136  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

"Aw,"  said  Slag,  "it  went  down  over  yonder, 
see  ?  An'  it's  a  pleasant  day,  an' 

"And  we're  on  the  rear  east  corner,  and  all 
you  have  to  do  is  count  off  ten  varas  along  the 
side  wall  from  the  corner." 

They  had  forgotten  to  bring  a  rule,  but  De 
Marzi  remembered  that  his  sabre  blade  was  a 
vara  and  a  fifth.  It  had  been  measured  once 
by  an  opponent's  seconds.  He  used  it  now  for 
a  rule,  and  thrust  it  in  the  ground  to  mark  the 
spot. 

"Presto,"  he  cried.  "I  wield  the  sword. 
Who  now  the  shovel  wields  ?" 

"  Or  men  ?  "  added  Derringer  "  —  if  you  must 
be  obvious.  Con,  step  along  near  the  wall, 
until  you  stumble  on  your  face.  That  will 
probably  be  the  pick  and  shovel  she  said  she 
would  have  thrown  over  for  us." 

Slag  found  the  tools,  and  he  and  De  Marzi 
were  soon  plying  them  like  hungry  grave  diggers. 
Derringer  stood  with  hands  in  pockets,  and 
thought  of  the  fun  there  would  be  presently. 
Morder  might  come  at  any  moment,  though 
very  likely  he  was  waiting  for  the  moon. 


BLAZE    DERRINGER  137 

A  dull  sound,  a  thump,  rose  from  the  exca- 
vation. 

"  Wow,  my  head,  you  Dago!" 

"And  my  head,  ou-ou!  But  wait.  I  keel 
you  in  one  moment." 

They  had  ceased  digging  and  dropped  on 
their  knees.  And  groping  in  the  fresh  earth, 
they  had  bumped  heads.  But  they  touched 
never  a  chest  of  buried  treasure. 

"Here,"  said  Derringer,  "is  this  a  prayer 
meeting,  or  what  ?  Why  don't  you  dig  ?  " 

They  dug  —  and  the  moon  was  rising.  They 
perceived  that  it  was  the  bared  foundation  of 
the  wall  which  they  had  struck  and  thought  to 
be  the  chest.  Suddenly  De  Marzi  turned  on 
Derringer,  throwing  down  his  shovel. 

"  I  have  observe'  no  chart.  You  do  not  deeg. 
You  stan'  and  laugh  at  us,  by  Jurge.  Mr. 
How-you-call-him  —  Slag  —  we  hang  him,  you 
and  me.  We  do  the  laugh.  Come,  Mr.  Slag!  " 

Slag  flung  down  the  pick,  and  glared  ques- 
tioningly  at  Derringer. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Derringer,  "if  you'd  cut 
under  the  wall,  you  might  —  What  Major,  you 


138  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

want  to  dig  too,  eh  ?  Well,  well,  well,  the  hang- 
ing can  wait." 

Still,  if  they  found  no  chest,  here  was  a  mess 
for  Derringer,  and  the  lass  in  the  big  house  on 
the  other  side  of  the  wall  to  thank  for  it.  He 
recalled  again  that  she  had  warned  him  to  forget 
the  affair  at  once.  There  was  also  her  merri- 
ment over  the  idea  of  revealing  the  secret  to  De 
Marzi  and  Morder.  What  if  there  were  no 
chest  ? 

"  Struck  wood ! "  grunted  Slag. 

"  Queek,  queek ! "  cried  De  Marzi. 

A  moonbeam  slanting  obliquely  touched  the 
end  of  the  pick  handle.  It  was  quivering 
violently,  and  the  point  of  the  tool,  somewhere 
in  the  depth  of  the  pit,  had  held  fast.  Slag 
wrenched  it  loose,  and  brought  forth  rotted 
splinters. 

"A  coffin,  or  box,  or  somethin'.  Here,  let  me 

"  He  brushed  De  Marzi  aside,  and  swung 

the  pick  with  explosive  grunts,  as  furiously 
excited  as  a  terrier  at  a  rat  hole.  De  Marzi, 
like  another  terrier,  darted  back  and  forth  along 
the  brink  of  the  pit,  peering  into  it. 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  139 

"From  under  the  wall,  si,  si!"  he  cried, 
reverting  to  Spanish.  "The  strong  chest  of  the 
Augustias  it  is.  It  holds  the  Hacienda  Nar- 
cisa,  sold  by  Don  Pedro  for  two  million  bolivars. 
And  the  Guiana  Gold  Mines,  seven  more  mil- 
lions. Ai,  ai,  Madre  de  Dios,  and  the  Narcisa 
and  the  Guiana  are  in  that  chest! —  Queek,  oh, 
queek,  senor,  I  no  can  wait!  Ai,  ai,  now  I  go 
to  Pa-rees.  I  buy  Pa-rees.  Oh,  will  you  be 
queek,  senor?" 

'Yes,  hurry,"  said  Derringer.  "He  will 
need  the  money." 

The  young  Texan  drawled  because  he,  also, 
was  excited.  If  the  millions  were  there,  then 
he  had  a  ravenous  South  American  hot-blood 
to  disappoint,  and  therefore  to  fight. 

On  knees  and  head  in  the  pit,  Slag  tugged  and 
sweated.  He  struggled  to  his  feet  with  a  weight 
between  his  hands.  "There,"  and  he  dropped 
a  great  chest  on  the  sod. 

With  a  cry,  De  Marzi  leaped  on  the  chest, 
and  Slag  threw  his  arms  about  it  as  about  the 
coffin  of  his  child. 

"Here,  here,"  said  Derringer,  "we  can't  open 


140  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

her  that  way,  you  know.  Let  go,  Con.  Hop 
off,  Major." 

The  Major  instead  kicked  a  spurred  heel  at 
Slag's  face,  and  Slag  wrapped  an  arm  around 
the  Major's  knees.  When  the  Major  hurtled 
his  length  on  the  ground,  Slag  climbed  out  of 
the  hole  and  sat  on  him. 

"  That's  just  as  well,"  said  Derringer.  "  Hold 
him!" 

The  jailbreaker  snatched  at  elusive  hands 
that  clawed.  "'Bout  as  lief  hold  a  bobcat," 
he  sputtered. 

"You've  got  to  hold  him,  Con." 

"Aw,  I  just  dearly  love  to,  the  precious  lamb. 
Ouch!  For  the  love  o'  Moses,  Blaze,  hurry 
up!" 

Derringer  was  hurrying.  He  had  not  forgotten 
the  imminence  of  Morder.  The  chest  was  of 
thick  cedar  heart,  iron  bound.  But  the  lid  gave 
like  pulp  under  a  blow  of  the  pick.  He  thrust 
his  fingers  inside. 

"What's  —  "  Slag  warded  off  the  flaying 
arms.  "  What's  in  it,  Blaze  ?  —  gold  or 
what?" 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  141 

"No,  it's  paper." 

"  Money  ?     You  mean  it's  money  ?  " 

Kneeling  where  a  moonbeam  struck,  Der- 
ringer was  thumbing  through  a  limp  packet  of 
notes.  The  moon  lighted  a  recurring  large 
denomination. 

"Only  hundred-dollar  bills,  Con." 

"  Hundered  —  oh,  Gawd  A'mighty,  whoop- 
ee!" 

Under  Slag  the  South  American  was  gurgling. 
Words  bubbled  to  the  surf  ace  .  .  .  "Pa-rees 
.  .  .  Par-ees!  .  .  .  Ai,  I  buy  Pa-rees! 
.  .  .  I  buy  her,  hundred-dollar  bills  .  .  . 
The  favour  ...  let  me  rise  .  .  .  queek 
.  .  .  queek!" 

Derringer  bent  close  to  the  top  note  of  the 
packet.  He  was  puzzled,  and  lighted  a  match 
under  his  hat.  Abruptly  something  made  him 
choke,  then  chuckle,  then  laugh,  much  as  the 
Senorita  had  laughed.  He  rummaged  through 
other  packets.  They  confirmed  his  mirth,  and 
he  tossed  them  back  into  the  chest.  He  rose, 
and  laid  a  hand  on  Slag's  shoulder. 

"Well,  old  top,"  he  said,  "let's  be  going." 


142  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

From  a  little  distance  came  a  crashing  sound 
like  a  bull  in  the  cacti. 

"Hurry,  will  you?     There's  Morder!" 

"  You  got  the  money  ?  " 

Derringer  laughed,  and  whispered  in  Slag's 
ear,  and  Slag  lost  the  power  of  comment.  He 
scrambled  dazedly  to  his  feet,  pushed  by  Der- 
ringer, and  sped  swiftly  around  the  corner  of 
the  wall.  Off  to  one  side  a  large  man  was 
breaking  through  the  brush. 

De  Marzi,  left  alone,  was  getting  to  his  feet. 
He  had  had  no  intimation  that  Morder  was  to 
make  one  of  the  party.  He  caught  up  his  sabre, 
and  stood  by  the  treasure  to  meet  the  newcomer. 

Derringer  could  not  resist  stopping  to  peep 
around  the  corner  of  the  wall.  He  beheld  two 
shadowy  figures  circling  warily,  and  lunging 
and  slashing  in  the  full  clang  of  combat.  The 
impulse  was  on  him  to  save  both  their  pelts  by 
telling  them  what  fools  they  were.  But  Morder 
would  take  him  in  charge,  and  end  his  chance 
of  helping  the  Senorita.  Reluctantly  he  left 
them.  "Oh,  well,"  he  thought,  "they  are  enjoy- 
ing it." 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  143 

On   the   Paseo    Slag   was   waiting   for   him. 

"Now,  say  that  again,"  demanded  Slag, 
"that  what  you  were  saying." 

Derringer  handed  him  a  packet  of  the  hundred- 
dollar  bills,  which  he  had  kept  for  a  sample. 

Slag  hurried  to  the  first  electric  light,  and 
scanned  the  top  bill.  He  began  to  scowl. 
All  the  bills  were  the  same.  The  scowl  deep- 
ened. He  put  his  hand  vaguely  to  his  head  as 
though  he  were  sick.  Three  times  he  opened 
his  mouth  to  speak,  and  Derringer  expected  the 
blasphemous  torrent.  But  suddenly  his  jaws 
clamped  tight.  And  he  thrust  the  clenched 
fist  holding  the  bills  in  his  pocket,  and  started 
off  at  tremendous  strides. 

"Cornelius,"  protested  Derringer,  trotting  to 
keep  up,  "you  don't  understand,  old  top,  what 
fine  money  it  really  is,  you  know;  it's  the  first 
money  I've  seen  that  I  can't  spend." 

The  jailbreaker  halted.  He  jerked  out  the 
crumpled  bills,  and  ran  a  stubby  finger  under 
certain  words  thereon.  His  jaws  worked,  though 
he  said  nothing.  The  words  underlined  by 
the  stubby  index  were : 


144  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

"The  Confederate  States  of  America  will  pay 
to  the  bearer  on  demand  .  .  . 

Once,  twice,  three  times,  Slag's  mouth 
opened.  The  fourth  time  he  succeeded.  "Oh, 
hell!" 


CHAPTER  TEN 

THE  daughter  of  Don  Pedro  sat  perched 
in  a  tree  of  her  father's  gardens  watch- 
ing  two    military  gentlemen   fight  with 
sabres  by  moonlight. 

The  combatants  did  not  know  that  the  lady 
was  there,  yet  there  she  was,  and  had  been  for 
some  time.  She  was  clothed  in  black,  and  the 
foliage  screened  her  besides.  The  tree  grew 
near  the  wall,  and  the  limb  she  had  chosen 
enabled  her  to  observe  unseen  all  that  went  on 
beneath  her  outside  the  wall. 

She  had  already  witnessed,  and  with  mirth 
hardly  suppressed,  the  unearthing  of  a  buried 
chest,  followed  by  the  departure  of  two  of 
the  argonauts.  After  which,  with  shudder  ing 
expectancy,  she  beheld  the  apparition  of  a 
new  arrival,  who  had  straightway  engaged  the 
remaining  treasure-seeker.  And  now  they  were 
at  it,  as  noisy  as  a  tin  shop. 

US 


146  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

As  she  hardly  knew  how  to  make  them  stop, 
she  screamed.  She  had  to  do  it  again,  and 
very  angrily,  too. 

"Hold,  my  Colonel,"  panted  one  of  the 
swordsmen.  "I  [thought  I  heard " 

The  Colonel  parried  a  devil's  own  stroke  for 
the  head.  "So  did  I  — hold!"  He  was  a 
ponderous  man,  and  under  stress  of  exertion 
his  words  came  by  jerks,  like  Percherons  heav- 
ing against  a  mired  load.  "Hold,  you  imp  of 
fire  and  pepper !  Now  hark ! ' ' 

A  clear  voice,  as  of  the  Dryad  of  the  tree,  was 
floating  down  to  them.  "Must  I,  senores, 
must  I  scream  again  ?" 

They  fell  apart,  lowering  their  points,  and 
gazed  upward  into  the  density  of  leaves.  The 
Colonel's  antagonist  flung  wide  his  arms  in  a 
pagan  gesture  of  worship.  "No,"  he  mur- 
mured, "no,  I  cannot  be  mistaken,  and  yet  — 
'tis  very  strange  —  I  seem  to  hear  no  rustling 
of  wings." 

"Major  De  Marzi!"  The  seraphic  voice 
reproved  him  as  primly  as  a  schoolmarm's. 
"You  are  fighting  again,  Major  De  Marzi! 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  147 

And  you,  Colonel  Morder  ?  "  The  voice  wavered 
in  dread.  "And  you " 

"And  I,  Senorita,  I  crave  pardon  and  an 
indulgence."  The  Colonel's  voice  now  was 
deep  and  velvety.  "Be  so  kind  as  to  consider 
that  I  am  under  the  necessity  of  killing  this 
presumptuous  young  man." 

"Aye,  dear  lady,"  hotly  cried  De  Marzi, 
"kindly  consent,  for  his  necessity  is  very  press- 
ing." 

The  invisible  dear  lady  said,  "Oh, dear  me!'* 
and  was  impatient  with  them.  Why  should 
they  fight  at  all  ? 

'You  must  know,  Senorita,  quite  well," 
replied  Morder.  "This  morning  you  gave  me 
a  chart  for  finding  a  buried  chest " 

"  Oh  —  ho ! "     ejaculated  De  Marzi. 

"And  I  arrive,"  said  Morder,  "to  discover 
this  boy  here  already.  How  he  knew  the  hid- 
ing place  is  a  mystery,  and  —  his  misfortune. 
He  would  tell  the  Presidente  that  I  have 
the  chest.  Therefore  — "  Morder  shrugged 
resignedly. — "I  must  kill  him.  My  regrets, 
Senorita." 


148  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"You  see,"  said  De  Marzi,  "so  please  go 
away.'* 

"No,"  said  the  practical  girl,  "'tis  both  of 
you  who  fail  to  see.  You  forget  that  the  dead 
body  of  one  will  betray  the  other." 

"H'm,  how,  Sefiorita?" 

"First,"  she  patiently  explained,  "there  are 
your  tracks.  Any  police  officer  could  find 
them,  and  then  he  will  find  not  only  the  body, 
but  that  hole  you  have  dug.  Second,  picture 
to  yourselves  your  Presidente.  'The  Augustias 
treasure  was  in  that  hole,'  says  your  Presidente, 
*  and  the  survivor  has  taken  the  treasure.'  He 
will  be  very  desirous  to  identify  that  survivor, 
will  he  not,  senores  ? " 

"Peste!"  exclaimed  D  e  Marzi. 

"But,  Senorita,"  asked  Morder  softly,  "who 
will  name  the  survivor  to  him  ?  " 

"I  will,"  said  the  girl,  "when  he  comes  to 
question  us  here." 

The  two  men  looked  at  one  another.  De 
Marzi  sighed  regretfully.  Morder  flung  out  his 
palms  in  surrender. 

"Your  dear  lady  has  us,"  he  said. 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  149 

"Patience,  my  Colonel;  if  I  can  wait,  you 
can  also." 

}  "Thank  you,  young  sire,  that  is  a  promise. 
Besides,"  said  Morder,  "the  chest  is  heavy. 
The  favour  to  lend  a  hand." 

"And,  senores,"  the  daughter  of  Don  Pedro 
mockingly  called  after  them  from  her  tree-top, 
"endeavour  to  feel  a  little  sorry  for  the  girl  you 
have  despoiled." 

Through  the  outer  portal  of  the  bleak  pene- 
tentiary,  across  a  courtyard,  and  into  the  office 
of  the  comandante,  the  two  military  gentlemen 
carried  their  burden  of  Confederate  money  for 
equal  division. 

So,  a  second  time  that  night,  they  took  their 
medicine  from  the  girl  in  the  tree. 

Yet,  through  their  rage  and  chagrin  they 
saw  that,  except  for  her,  both  must  have  lost 
their  lives  for  this  trash. 

But  on  her  own  account,  where  lay  the  motive 
of  the  hoax?  They  thought  that  out  also,  or 
thought  they  did. 

She  had  given  each  of  them  a  secret  to  hold 
over  the  other,  since  each,  to  the  other's  know- 


150  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

ledge,  had  tried  to  steal  treasure  confiscated  by 
the  government. 

And   this   secret   she   held   over   them   both. 

They  appreciated  that  there  was  medicine  left 
in  the  bottle. 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

SLAG  was  for  taking  the  next  train  and 
boat  off  the  continent.  The  jailbreak- 
ing  enterprise  had  lost  its  glamour.  He 
was  telling  all  about  it  at  breakfast  on  Jenkins's 
return. 

"If  that  there's  the  breed  an*  colour  an'  date 
o'  their  money,"  said  he,  smashing  an  open  palm 
on  a  vain  C.  S.  A.  promise  to  pay  one  hundred 
dollars,  "then  you  can  photograph  right  here  one 
rough  neck  that  ain't  p'posin'  to  risk  itself  an- 
other step." 

"Necks  don't  step,  Cornelius,"  said  Der- 
ringer. "They're  stepped  on." 

' '  Aw,  shut  up !  Why  don't  you  say  somethin', 
Jenkins  ?  Ain't  I  right  ?  Ain't  I  ?  " 

One  by  one  the  astringent  lines  of  Jenkins's 
morose  countenance  had  been  relaxing,  and  at 
his  mouth  a  gap  opened  that  looked  like  a 
disreputable  and  jocose  dent  in  the  edge  of  a 

151 


152  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

hatchet.  Jenkins  was  grinning!  Some  one  else 
had  gathered  up  the  burden  of  gloom  required 
to  balance  a  light-headed  universe,  and  Jenkins 
was  taking  a  rest. 

"Careful  not  to  spill  over,  Slag,"  he  cautioned, 
"or  you'll  burn  a  hole  in  the  table  cloth.  —  No, 
don't  bother  me  for  a  minute.  This  is  serious. 
It's  the  first  funny  thing  that's  ever  happened, 
and  I  don't  quite  know  how  to  act."  He 
caught  a  view  of  Slag's  fury,  and  he  leaned  his 
pompadour  on  his  hand,  and  they  beheld  the 
silent  convulsions  of  a  strong  man  who  has 
broken  over  at  last.  When  he  raised  his  head, 
there  were  tears  bowling  over  the  end  of 
his  Roman  nose.  "Lord,  Lord,"  he  moaned 
weakly,  "ain't  there  something  I  can  do  for  this  ? 
Blaze,  get  me  to  a  funeral  quick,  or  I'll  — 
I'll-  -" 

"Shut  up,  you  overbiled,  cacklin',  gibberin' 
body-snatcher,"  roared  Slag.  "My  hand  is 
back  in  the  discard,  that's  all  /  got  to  say. 
Save  me  a  bunk  on  them  toy  steam  cars  o* 
your'n  to-night,  you  slab-headed,  cracked  an* 
crumblin'  tombstone  imitation  of  a " 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  153 

"Don't,  Con,  don't!  Can't  you  see  I'm 
expiring  rapid,  and  I  ain't  finished  breakfast 
yet  ?  Seems  to  me  you  two  might  have  broken 
this  more  easy-like." 

Slag  jumped  up.  They  pulled  him  back 
into  his  chair. 

"Now  tell  us  where  it  hurts,"  pleaded  Jenkins. 
"Tell  old  Jenksie  where  it  hurts." 

Slag  told  him.  He  wasn't  going  to  get  any 
would-have-been  em'prer  out  of  the  pen  an* 
be  paid  for  it  in  Confederate  money.  He  was 
through.  Con  Slag  was  through. 

'You  listen  here,  old  top,"  said  Derringer. 
"Say  you  have  peanuts  in  one  pocket.  Is  that 
any  sign  you  haven't  gum  drops  in  the  other 
pocket?  Answer  me." 

"Aw,  cut  that  out.  You're  workin*  onto 
one  o'  your  batty  streaks." 

"Wait.  We  will  now  simplify.  You  see, 
Cornelius,  it's  this  way.  You  find  anachro- 
nistic currency  in  one  chest.  Hence  there  is  no 
current  currency  in  any  chest. —  Q.  E.  D." 

"I  ain't  seen  any  real  money  yet." 

"No,  and  you  haven't  earned  any  yet.     When 


154  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

you  do,  maybe  you  can  bear  the  sight  of  it 
without  hurting  your  eyes." 

"The  question,"  exploded  Slag  with  finality, 
"is  just  here  — "  He  made  the  table  hop  under 
his  hairy  fist.  —  "How  do  we  know  any  real 
money  is  comin'  to  us?" 

"How  did  we  know  it  before  ?" 

"We  didn't.  —  Oh,  Jumpin'  Joseph,  what's 
the  use  o'  pushin'  idears  at  such  a  flare-top? 
They  sizzle  up  before  they  git  on  in.  —  'Nough 
said.  I  quit,  see  ?" 

"No,  you  don't,"  said  Jenkins  soberly.  "It 
ain't  square,  leaving  an  old  man  in  a  hospital 
any  such  way." 

"No,"  said  Derringer,  "and  it's  not  ethical. 
You'll  be  disbarred." 

But  Slag  was  resolved.     They  could  see  that 


now. 
ft 


I  quit,"  he  shouted.  "Q,  u,  i,  double  t, 
quit!" 

Derringer's  expression  changed.  "You  don't 
quit." 

"Oh,  don't  I?  Who,  for  the  love  o'  babies, 
are  you  ?  Why  don't  I  ?  Say,  why  don't  I  ?  " 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  155 

"Because,"  said  Derringer.  He  was  writing 
in  his  note  book.  "Just  because."  He  tore 
out  the  leaf,  and  handed  it  to  Slag.  The  jail- 
breaker  read : 

"On  demand,  after  inheriting  from  my  father 
or  otherwise  coming  into  property,  I  promise  to 
pay  to  Cornelius  Slag  all  or  any  part  of  the  sum 
of  $33,333.33  not  paid  to  him  by  Pedro  de  Las 
Augustias  for  services  rendered  in  procuring 
the  release  from  his  present  imprisonment  of 
the  said  Don  Pedro.  This  note  of  hand  is 
void  until  the  above  mentioned  services  are 
duly  performed. 

"EDWARD  DERRINGER." 

The  young  Texan's  freckled  eyelids  were 
distending  slowly.  "I  knocked  off  a  third  of  a 
cent,"  he  mentioned,  quick  and  sharp.  "Do 
you  want  that  on  tooP" 

Slag  knew  quite  well  who  Derringer  was. 
He  knew  the  youngster's  certain  prospects,  and 
all  that,  but  when  a  man  chums  around  with 
a  King  or  a  Pope  or  a  City  Editor,  the  identity 
with  power  gets  lost  somehow  in  the  human 
being.  Slag  now  regarded  his  companion  with 
other  eyes.  He  had  much  to  do  to  connect  the 


156  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

democratic  little  red-headed  spendthrift  with  that 
considerable  dot  on  the  map  of  Texas  signifying 
the  Derringer  acres. 

"Aw, Blaze,"  he  protested,  "I  wasn't  meanin' 
nothin'  like  this.  Aw,"  he  added  with  dig- 
nity, getting  his  terms  mixed,  "I  don't  ask  for 
retainer  fees." 

"You  sickly  sport,"  observed  Derringer, 
"keep  it  just  the  same.  Call  it  a  contract, 
if  you  wish.  Only  understand  this,  you're 
working  for  me  now,  and  I  want  action.  You 
get  that,  don't  you?" 

Slag  whistled  softly.  Here  was  talk  that 
went  with  the  Derringer  acres.  Obediently  he 
pocketed  the  note. 

Jenkins  stirred.  He  was  looking  intently  at 
the  young  Texan. 

"Thirty-three  thousand  and  some  odd,  that's 
a  heap  of  money,"  he  mused  aloud.  "I  say, 
Blaze,  is  it  an  investment,  or  a  speculation,  or 
a  —  a  valentine  ?  " 

Derringer  reddened  uncomfortably.  Possi- 
bly it  was  the  first  time  he  had  reddened  uncom- 
fortably. 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  157 

"Which  is  it,  Blaze?"  pursued  the  relentless 
Jenkins. 

'You  finish  your  breakfast,"  snapped  Der- 
ringer. 

His  face  clouded.  "Besides,"  he  added,  "I've 
got  more  to  say  to  Slag.  Let's  go  up  to  my  room." 
In  his  room,  with  the  doors  closed,  he  went  on: 
"Suppose  Morder  thinks  like  Slag  does,  that  Don 
Pedro's  fortune  is  spurious.  Then  Morder  can't 
have  any  further  interest  in  prolonging  Don  Pe- 
dro's life,  can  he  ?  Well,  well,  somebody  answer." 

No  one  spoke.  Jenkins  was  glum  again. 
Slag  frowned  helplessly. 

"Look  here,  Con,"  said  Derringer,  his  eyes 
ablaze,  "what's  the  matter  with  getting  him 
out  to-night?" 

"Oh,  all  right,"  sneered  Slag,  "or  step  down 
an'  buy  a  cigar,  or  any  other  little  thing." 

"We  can't  wait,  I  tell  you." 

"Wre  got  to,  that's  all.  WTe  got  to  wait  till 
Captain  Blackburn  pulls  into  Puertocito  with 
his  boat.  Don't  we,  Jenks?" 

"She's  due  Thursday,"  said  Jenkins,  "and 
sails  Friday.  That's  five  days  yet." 


158  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"Then,"  announced  Slag,  "we'll  get  his  nibs 
out  Thursday  night.  An'  we've  got  to  hustle. 
You  two  seem  to  think  jailbreaking  is  just 
casual-like,  but  by " 

"What's  there  to  do?" 

"Take  a  walk." 

Whereupon  Slag  and  Derringer  set  out  for 
a  walk,  and  Jenkins  retired  for  his  day's  sleep. 

The  jailbreakers  bent  their  stroll  into  a  narrow 
street  lined  with  little  retail  shops.  Now  and  then 
they  paused  to  look  in  the  windows.  They  came 
to  one  window  that  was  really  a  dike  holding 
back  an  overflow  of  junk.  There  were  bicycles, 
old  and  new,  and  parts  of  bicycles,  and  tires,  and 
pumps  for  tires,  and  lamps,  oil  cans,  shoes, 
sweaters,  caps,  and  nearly  everything  else  per- 
taining to  the  lost  craze  of  cycling.  The  jail- 
breaker  was  strangely  interested. 

"Let's  pasear  in  here  a  minute,"  he  said, 
and  went  on  in.  Derringer  followed  him,  won- 
dering. 

The  shop  was  as  the  window.  Bicycles, 
dismantled  and  assembled,  rusted  and  tarnished, 
were  piled  in  a  jumble  on  the  floor,  were  hanging 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  159 

on  the  walls  by  nails,  were  dangling  from  the 
ceiling.  There  was  even  one  with  two  seats, 
a  tandem  imported  in  the  rash  expectation  of 
a  public  demand  that  never  materialized.  Slag 
gazed  at  it  like  a  haberdashery  drummer 
contemplating  a  suit  of  Fourteenth  Century 
armour. 

The  native  who  sold  bicycles,  when  he  could, 
and  repaired  them,  possibly,  happened  to 
gravitate  their  way.  He  was  not  to  be  decoyed 
into  a  recrudescence  of  hope  concerning  tandems. 
Slag  indulged  him  in  this  view. 

"I  don't  want  anything,  sake?"  said  the 
jailbreaker  in  the  language  of  the  country. 
"But  this  senorhere,"  indicating  Derringer, " he 
thinks  he  wants  to  start  an  American  bicycle 
agency,  sabe?  Bad  business,  eh?" 

Derringer  did  not  know  that  he  wanted  to 
start  anything  of  the  kind,  but  he  took  Slag's 
word  for  it,  and  looked  prospective  and  capital- 
istic. The  native  only  looked  bored  before  the 
vision  of  competition  and  rum. 

"Want  to  sell  out?"  demanded  Slag. 

Whatever  all  this  had  to  do  with  jailbreaking 


160  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

was  not  apparent.  But  Derringer  piped  up 
and  said:  "Well,  how  much?" 

The  native  would  take  ten  thousand  bolivars. 
That  was  to  see  whether  they  meant  it.  Slag 
offered  him  one  hundred.  That  was  repartee. 
There  followed  an  eddying  of  figures,  and  at 
last  the  diverging  numerals  coalesced,  and  the 
deal  was  closed.  The  bewildered  native  took 
his  coat  and  hat,  that  being  suggested  to  him 
as  the  next  formality,  and  left  them  in  possession. 
Derringer,  hands  on  hips,  hat  on  the  back  of 
his  head,  gazed  from  littered  floor  to  garnished 
ceiling,  from  one  junk-festooned  wall  to  the 
other. 

"I  s'posed,"  murmured  Slag,  "that  as  you 
liked  blowin'  in  money  so  well  — " 

"Right  you  are,  Cornelius,"  said  Derringer, 
"and  I  was  just  wondering  why  I'd  never 
thought  to  go  in  for  scrap  heaps  before.  But 
what's  it  for?  What  do  we  do  with  it ?" 

Slag  pointed  to  the  tandem.  "That's  the 
velocipede  we  want." 

"Bought  the  whole  shop  for  that?" 

The  jailbreaker  leered   his  craftiest,  as  was 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  161 

usual  when  he  thought  himself  very  deep  and 
professional.  "C'rect,"  said  he.  "The  shop 
will  explain  why  you  ride  the  tandem." 

"Oh,  I  ride  the  tandem,  do  I?" 

"Why  not?  Don't  you  want  an  excuse  to 
wear  them  dude  golf  clothes  you  got  ?  What 
else  was  golf  an'  bisackles  invented  for?" 

"Who  do  I  ride  with?" 

Slag  grinned.  "I'm  scared  it'll  have  to  be 
poor  old  Jenks." 

"But,"  said  Derringer,  "I  don't  seem  to 
want  to  ride  bicycles  very  much." 

Again  Slag  leered  with  enormous  complacency. 
"Still,  you  got  to  advertise,  ain't  you?  You 
got  to  get  these  Dagoes  to  thinkin'  they  must 
have  tandems  an'  such,  or  you  cain't  sell  none. 
Cain't  you  rec'lect  you've  come  down  here  to 
go  into  the  bisackle  business?" 

"Maybe  I  can  with  practice.  But  what  are 
you  down  here  for?" 

"Me?  Oh,  I'm  your  mechanic.  I  do  the 
repairin'." 

"For  $33,333.33!  You  come  high,  Con. 
The  business  won't  stand  it.  I'll  have  to  fire 


162  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

you,  and  keep  an  open  shop.  —  Do  I  get  any 
more  instalments  just  now  as  to  what's  stewing 
behind  that  furrowed  brow?'* 

Slag  shook  his  head. 

"All  right,  then.  Suppose  we  go  back  and 
celebrate  on  a  creme  de  menthe.  I  never  owned 
a  menagerie  of  wheels  before,  you  know." 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

ED  UARD  0  DERRINGER  —  Bicecletas 
Americanas  —  was  glad  that  his  incep- 
tion into  the  retail  trade  of  Sylvanlitlan 
was  not  tinged  with  permanence.  He  had  to 
promise  so  very  much.  Otherwise,  the  novelty 
of  it  was  not  distressing.  But  to  linger  till 
the  promises  fell  due  were  ruinous  extrava- 
gance. 

Coyotes  require  no  messenger  boy  in  brass 
buttons  to  inform  them  when  a  fresh  beef  has 
dropped  behind  the  herd. 

The  news  did  not  spread.  It  fell  broadcast 
like  a  grateful  shower,  and  the  thirsting  knew 
that  a  capitalista  Americano  was  among  them. 
The  swooping  down  of  the  harpies  began  when 
a  day  or  so  later  Derringer  and  Slag  were  putting 
up  their  new  sign.  Came  their  landlord,  dingy 
and  obsequious.  There  had  been  certain 
lamentable  arrears  in  the  rent,  senores.  The 

163 


164  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

stock  in  the  shop  was  the  only  security  the  poor 
man  had.  Regrets  harassed  him,  but  Don 
Eduardo,  would  he 

"Tell  him  the  first  of  the  month,"  said  Slag 
through  a  mouthful  of  nails. 

So  Don  Eduardo  told  him  the  first  of  the 
month. 

A  government  clerk,  in  a  black  frock  coat 
turning  green  that  revealed  a  brass  collar  button 
at  the  back  of  the  neck,  tiptoed  in  and  softly 
proclaimed  that  he  strived  to  please.  He  had 
Lptoed  over  from  the  Jefetura  de  Hacienda 
regarding  the  transfer  of  the  lease  to  Don 
Eduardo,  which  had  to  be  written  out  on 
stamped  paper.  The  stamped  paper  cost  five 
bolivars  a  sheet,  and  as  the  clerk  wrote  a  large, 
careful  hand,  the  document  required  ten  sheets. 

"Save  my  child!"  Slag  ejaculated;  "that's 
ten  dollars!  Tell  him  to  lock  it  up  in  the  vault 
till  the  first." 

Likewise  there  was  a  city  official  collecting 
merchants'  licenses.  Also  a  tax  collector.  Also 
a  collector  for  the  government  concession  of 
municipal  lighting.  Derringer  looked  in  vain 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  165 

for  any  token  of  municipal  lighting  in  the  shop. 
That,  explained  the  collector,  was  the  occupant's 
neglect.  If  everybody  did  not  pay  who  did  not 
have  lighting,  the  government  concession  of 
municipal  lighting  would  have  no  money  to 
spare  for  lighting  those  who  did  want  light, 
so 

"The  favour  to  explain  that  all  over  again 
the  first  of  the  month,"  interposed  Don  Eduardo. 

With  practice  the  Americans  became  adept. 
After  a  little  they  could  take  a  new  one  on  every 
five  minutes.  Once  they  did  it  in  a  minute  and 
a  half.  However,  that  was  on  a  cash  basis,  four 
centavos,  to  a  beggar  with  palsy  and  govern- 
ment monopoly  matches.  They  never  bettered 
this  record,  unless  one  counts  the  mangy  dog 
of  a  vendor  of  State  Lottery  tickets  that  nipped 
Mr.  Slag  on  the  leg.  The  animal  was  immedi- 
ately catapulted  across  the  narrow  street  through 
the  door  of  an  ice-cream  parlour. 

"I  think,"  said  Derringer  consolingly,  %<that 
Don  Pedro  is  bound  to  appreciate  all  this  expert 
jailbreaking  on  his  account." 

A  woman  holding  a  soft  warm  bundle  to  her 


166  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

breast  paused  to  watch  the  hanging  of  the 
sign.  The  soft  bundle  was  a  baby,  and  the 
baby  and  the  woman's  head  and  shoulders 
were  closely  swathed  in  a  rust-coloured  rebosa. 
So  much  of  the  baby  was  seen  as  a  little  round 
patch  of  olive  face.  The  woman's  face  might 
hardly  be  seen  at  all.  As  the  native  women  do 
when  they  have  a  cold,  she  held  the  rebosa  over 
her  mouth  and  nose,  letting  one  end  hang  over 
her  shoulder.  Without  a  word  she  passed  on 
into  the  shop. 

"Well,"    said   Slag,    "what   do   you   reckon 
she  wants?     A  bisackle?" 

They  found  her  wandering  around  in  the  back 
of  the  shop. 

"Here,"  said  Slag,  "que  quiere?     What  are 
you  up  to?" 

She  was  slight,  and  stooped,  and  frail,  and 
at  the  gruff  demand  she  commenced  to  cough. 

"Caridad,"  she  said  plaintively,  holding  out 
a  hand. 

"Charity,  eh?"  grumbled  Slag.     "All  right, 
gimme  ten  cents." 

Derringer  stared  an  instant  at  the  woman's 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  167 

hand.  Then  quickly  he  closed  and  locked  the 
front  door,  and  hung  out  the  "Back  in  Five 
Minutes"  placard.  As  he  hurried  back  she 
was  saying,  "Si,  senor,  caridad";  whereupon 
she  lifted  her  eyes  from  the  babe,  and  looked 
steadily  for  a  moment  at  Derringer.  The  eyes 
were  piteous,  tragic,  and  her  brow  was  as  white 
as  a  nun's.  Derringer  caught  up  a  chair  and 
placed  it  for  her,  and  stood  on  one  foot  and  the 
other,  trying  to  think  of  what  else  he  might  do. 
Something  —  those  eyes,  perhaps  —  had  made 
a  pin  cushion  of  his  heart. 

"Miss  Bess,"  he  stammered.     "Miss  Bess!" 

Seated  there,  half  trembling,  she  stroked  the 
baby's  head.  "  Poor  little  thing,"  she  murmured, 
"I  borrowed  him  from  my  maid.  —  Oh,  I 
had  to  come !  My  poor  father " 

Among  oil  cans  and  wrenches,  caressing  a 
servant's  child,  the  daughter  of  an  imperial 
line  was  pleading  with  a  jailbreaker  for  the 
charity  of  deeds.  Rough  old  Slag,  such  as  he 
was,  was  her  final  hope. 

"Yes,  Miss  Bess,"  he  urged  her  dumbly. 
"Your  father,  you  was  sayin' " 


168  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

'Yes,  yes,  listen.  My  father  has  to  take 
their  medicines.  They  watch  him  while  he 
swallows  the  stuff,  and  he  cannot  refuse.  And 
the  —  the  medicines  are  —  they  are  different. 
They  — "  she  shuddered  —  "  they  make  him 
delirious." 

"But " 

"Wait,  please.  This  morning,  for  the  first 
time  since  Colonel  Morder's  return,  they  let 
me  see  my  father,  and  he  told  me  that  last 
night  he  lost  consciousness  again  from  their  — 
their  drugs.  He  knew  that  he  talked  out  of  his 
head.  And  when  he  —  he  recovered,  Colonel 
Morder  was  sitting  beside  his  cot,  listening, 
straining  to  hear  every  word  my  poor  father 
uttered." 

"He's  one  devil,  that  man!"  roared  Slag. 
"Of  course,  ma'am,  he's  only  after  learnin' 
where  your  pa  stowed  away  the  money.  I 
don't  reckon  he  believed  that  that  —  well  that 
chest  we  dug  up  —  was  the  real  thing,  do 
you?" 

The  wraith  of  a  smile  fluttered  to  her  lips. 
"Hardly,"  she  replied,  "though  no  doubt  he 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  169 

believes  that  I  thought  it  was.  At  least  I  am 
annoyed  no  more  as  a  source  of  information, 
but — "  she  sighed  heavily  —  "but  now  he 
devotes  himself  entirely  to  my  father." 

'Yes,"  exclaimed  Slag,  "an'  the  —  the  low- 
lived hombrey  —  will  git  the  secret  out  of  him, 
too!" 

The  girl's  eyes  brightened  defiantly  under  their 
wet  lashes.  "No,"  she  said,  "because  my 
father  does  not  know  the  secret  himself.  Only 
I  know  it.  We  took  that  precaution  some  time 
ago." 

"Oh,  well,  then,  what's  the  worry?  A  little 
delirium  ain't  goin'  to  hurt  him  none." 

"But  you  do  not  understand.  You  do 
not  understand  that  Colonel  Morder  is  hard 
pressed.  He  knows  that  at  any  time  Major 
De  Marzi  can  ruin  him  by  a  hint  to  their 
Presidente  that  a  buried  chest  was  carried 
away  from  our  place.  The  mean  little  tyrant 
suspects  Morder  of  ambition  already,  and  he 
and  De  Marzi  both  ask  nothing  better  than 
a  pretext  to  take  Morder's  life.  I  suppose  De 
Marzi  is  waiting  only  to  think  out  a  plausible 


170  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

story  to  explain  his  own  connection  with  steal- 
ing that  chest." 

Slag  frowned  in  perplexity.  "But  what  in 
the  world,  Miss  Bess,"  he  demanded,  "are  we 
worryin'  about  Mr.  Morder's  troubles  for? 
What's  all  that  got  to  do  with  us?" 

"It  has  everything."  She  paused  wearily, 
discouraged.  This  hulking  American  with  his 
frowns  was  very  dense.  For  a  time  she  gazed 
down  on  the  babe  in  her  lap.  Derringer  could 
not  see  her  eyes ;  only  the  wet  lashes. 

"Don't  you  mean,  Miss  Bess,"  he  faltered  - 
for  the  very  pain  of  his  eagerness  to  help  her 
he  had  to  say  something.  — "Don't  you  mean 
that  Morder  is  —  well,  in  a  hurry?  That  he 
is  thinking  about  running  away  ?  And  that  — 
that  first  he's  bound  he  will  get  your  father's 
money  to  take  with  him?" 

She  looked  up,  pressing  her  handkerchief 
tightly  against  her  upper  lip.  The  brown  eyes 
shone  with  a  fine  courage.  "Thank  you," 
she  said,  "that  is  it.  But  not  —  not  all. 
Since  drugs  fail,  Colonel  Morder  intends  to  try  — 
to  try "  She  bit  her  lip  bravely  under  the 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  171 

handkerchief,  but  got  no  further.  Suddenly 
she  put  the  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 

Derringer's  imagination  leaped  apace.  Twice 
he  checked  the  words  on  his  tongue.  The 
thought  was  too  incredible.  It  was  so  horrible 
as  to  be  absurd.  "You  cannot  mean,"  he 
ventured  at  last,  "that  Morder  would  try  — 
torture?" 

She  crouched  under  the  w^ord.  They  saw  her 
slowly  nod  her  head. 

Slag  snatched  a  pneumatic  tire  from  a  nail 
and  began  looking  intently  for  a  puncture.  His 
lips  moved,  and  there  were  gurgling  noises  in 
his  throat.  He  was  swearing  inwardly.  Der- 
ringer's face  was  white.  Cruel  visions  of 
another  age  weakened  the  realization  of  the  age 
in  which  he  lived. 

"Oh,  you  do  not  know,"  she  burst  forth 
bitterly,  "you  others  in  Boston,  far  away,  you 
do  not  know  that  within  the  prison  walls  of 
Sylvanlitlan  there  is  a  rack  such  as  you  see  only 
as  a  museum  trophy,  and  an  iron  crown  with 
thumb-screws,  and  a  boot,  and  a  leather  bucket 
with  a  length  of  leather  hose.  And  you  would 


172  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

teach  a  little  Sylvanlitlan  girl  the  history  of 
the  Middle  Ages!  Learn  a  little  of  your  own 
times,  my  dear  teachers,  while  we  of  Sylvan- 
litlan .  .  .  Oh,  my  poor  father,  my 
poor " 

Slag  hurled  the  tire  to  the  floor.  "How 
do  you  know?"  he  protested.  "How  do  you 
know?" 

"I  —  I  saw  it,"  she  moaned" — the  iron 
crown.  They  had  it  brought  over  to  the 
hospital.  I  saw  it  this  morning." 

"Then  Morder  meant  for  you  to  — "  said 
Derringer,  catching  eagerly  at  the  theory.  "He 
lets  you  see  your  father  now.  He  thinks  you 
will  beg  your  father  to  give  up  the  secret.  Why, 
that's  it,  of  course.  Morder  is  only  trying  to 
frighten  you  both." 

"Frighten  my  father?"  She  laughed  a  little; 
not  scornfully,  only  in  pity. 

"You  really  think,  then " 

"I  know,"  she  said.  "Colonel  Morder  is 
away  to-night.  Their  Presidente  has  sent  him 
to  inspect  a  fortress.  But  Morder  told  my  father 
that  —  that  'the  seance  would  begin  to-morrow 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  173 

night/  Those  were  his  words."  —  She  paused, 
then  added  significantly:  "I  am  to  be  allowed 
to  see  my  father  again  in  the  morning." 

Derringer  understood.  "  Miss  Bess,"  he  said, 
"your  father  needs  that  secret,  and  when  you 
see  him  in  the  morning,  you  mean  to  tell  him 
where  the  money  is  hidden." 

She  smiled  up  at  him  for  his  knowledge  of  her. 

"I  have  tried  to  tell  my  father  already,"  she 
said,  "and  he  would  not  let  me.  Still,  that 
does  not  matter,  for  I  can  give  the  secret,  and 
even  the  money,  to  Colonel  Morder  himself." 

"Wh  —  what's  that?"  cried  Slag. 

The  interruption  fetched  Derringer  back  to 
the  fact  that  there  was  a  jailbreaking  scheme 
afoot.  For  a  moment  it  was  hard  to  realize, 
and  it  did  seem  very  hopeless  and  preposterous. 
His  jaunty  self-confidence  had  left  him.  The 
girl,  her  distress,  were  real.  The  other  was  a 
wild  adventure.  To  offer  her  that  as  hope; 
the  thought  of  it  angered  him. 

"Buy  off  Morder  by  all  means,"  he  pleaded 
with  her.  "Anything,  to  keep  him  from  your 
father." 


174  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

It  was  the  surest  plan,  he  decided.  True, 
she  could  go  to  the  Presidente,  but  the  Presidente 
would  merely  set  a  spy  to  listen  to  Don  Pedro's 
confession  of  the  secret.  Or  perhaps  she  might 
stay  Morder's  hand  by  threatening  to  reveal 
the  affair  of  the  buried  chest  to  the  Presidente. 
Yet  Derringer  would  not  advise  that,  either. 
The  desperate  Morder  would  abduct  the  girl 
to  keep  her  quiet. 

"Buy  him  off,  buy  him  off,"  he  repeated. 

"Look  here,"  Slag's  growl  arose,  "where  do 
we  come  in?" 

Derringer  turned  on  him  savagely.  "We 
don't  come  in,"  he  retorted.  "We  don't  come 
in,  do  you  understand?" 

"Mr.  —  Mr.  Derringer!"  It  was  the  Senor- 
ita  who  intervened.  Her  eyes  were  softened  to 
their  great  depths.  "You  do  not  reflect,  sir, 
that  I  would  have  bought  over  Colonel  Morder, 
or  any  of  them,  long  ago,  if  that  had  meant 
my  father's  freedom.  But  it  would  not.  So 
soon  as  they  had  his  wealth,  his  death  would 
follow.  And  that  is  still  true.  So,"  she  added 
despairingly,  "I  have  come  to  you  two 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  175 

Americans."  Then  to  Slag  she  said:  "Ac- 
cordingly, you  have  until  to-morrow  night  to 
save  this  money  from  Morder,  including  what 
I  have  promised  you.  If  you — fail,  you 
make  matters  no  worse  for  my  father,  and  if 
.  .  .  Oh,  tell  me,"  she  cried,  "is  there  a 
chance  ?  Have  you  any  plans  ?  Only  tell  me, 
tell  me!" 

The  sharp  note  of  pain  left  Derringer  white 
with  resolve.  He  wheeled  on  the  jailbreaker. 

"Now,  ease  down,  you,"  said  Slag,  answering 
the  look.  He  was  unwontedly  stirred  himself. 
"We  got  till  to-morrow  night,  ain't  we?  Well, 
ain't  to-morrow  night  Thursday?"  He  put 
the  boy  from  consideration,  and  addressed  the 
girl.  "Attention,  now,  Miss  Bess.  You  said 
you'd  be  seem'  your  father  hi  the  morain'  ? 
Good.  An'  you're  allowed  to  send  him  his 
meals?" 

'  Yes,  of  course." 

"An'  he  has  to  have  his  wine,  I  reckon  ?" 

"  Most  assuredly." 

"Good  again.     I  was  some  countin'  on  that." 

"Then  you  do  have  a  plan,"  she  exclaimed. 


176  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"Oh,  tell  me  what  I  must  do,  what  my  father 
must  do." 

The  jailbreaker  told  her,  professional  gravity 
growing  on  him  as  he  proceeded. 

As  she  listened,  her  body  grew  tense,  and  at 
times  she  shivered,  but  she  would  press  her  lip 
under  the  handkerchief,  and  so  kept  herself 
to  the  ordeal  through  to  the  end. 

Often  during  the  rest  of  that  day,  and  then 
at  night,  Derringer  would  close  his  eyes  so  that 
he  might  see  again  her  brave  face  and  the  fine 
courage  in  her  eyes. 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

DERRINGER  waited  possibly  sixty  sec- 
onds after  the  daughter  of  Don  Pedro 
had  left  the  shop  before  he  caught  up 
his  hat  and  followed  her.  She  held  the  babe 
closely,  keeping  the  rebosa  to  her  eyes,  and 
her  slender,  girlish  figure  was  lost  in  the  stooped 
humility  of  the  native  woman.  Yet  the  anxious 
young  man  behind,  whose  watchful  protection 
she  never  once  suspected,  was  deadly  certain 
that  all  the  world  must  pierce  her  disguise. 
After  which  he  marvelled  why  the  world  did 
not.  Then  he  lost  sight  of  her  himself  for  a 
moment  as  she  threaded  her  way  across  the 
street  through  a  little  group  of  native  women, 
and  he  could  not  for  the  life  of  him  tell  which 
was  she.  It  provoked  him  immeasurably. 
But,  his  gaze  darting  along  the  pavement,  he 
caught  a  glimpse  of  the  red  heels  of  her 
shoes,  and  at  once  he  knew  how  impossible  it 

177 


178  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

was  to  mistake  her  for  any  one  else  in  the 
universe. 

A  half  a  block  farther  on,  she  stopped  a  third- 
class  hack,  indicated  by  a  yellow  tin  flag,  and 
the  hack  drew  up  to  the  curb.  Derringer  saw 
the  driver  nod  his  head  as  she  gave  him  her 
address,  saw  her  step  inside  and  close  the  door, 
and  reluctantly  saw  the  last  of  the  hack  as  it 
rattled  around  the  first  corner.  As  he  went  back 
to  the  shop,  he  felt  unaccountably  lonesome. 

On  his  return,  Slag  gave  him  orders  as  a 
coach  orders  about  an  athlete  in  training.  He 
was  to  array  himself  in  his  cuffed  knicker- 
bockers and  let  the  half-dozing  populace  behold 
him  disporting  on  the  tandem  bicycle.  It  was 
necessary  to  get  themselves  identified  with  tan- 
dem bicycles,  and  Slag  was  inexorable.  He 
had  forced  a  cuffed  -  knickerbocker  raiment 
on  Jenkins  also,  and  though  the  conductor 
lost  hours  of  his  daytime  sleep  between  trains, 
there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  bestride  the 
double-seated  rig  with  Derringer,  and  dazzle 
the  town  as  though  he  enjoyed  it.  Jenkins  was 
not  in  the  city  now.  He  had  left  with  his  train 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  179 

for  the  coast  the  night  before,  and  the  young 
Texan  had  to  make  the  distasteful  show  of  him- 
self alone. 

Slag  remained  behind  and  kept  shop.  There 
was  a  bit  of  carpentering  to  occupy  his  big 
clumsy  hands,  besides  a  considerable  deal  of 
thinking  to  churn  up  his  elephantine  brain. 
After  supper  that  evening,  before  the  moon  rose, 
he  stalked  forth  alone  on  dark  affairs  of  moment, 
a  preoccupied  scowl  creasing  his  brow. 

The  next  morning  was  Thursday.  When 
Derringer  came  down,  Slag  was  standing  in  the 
hotel  patio,  frowning  at  the  railway  and  steamship 
bulletin  board.  There  was  no  mention  of  the 
Leviathan,  otherwise  the  good  ship  Southland, 
Benjamin  Blackburn,  Captain. 

"Oh,  she  will  drift  in  some  time  during  the 
day,"  said  Derringer. 

"Don't  matter,"  growled  Slag.  "We  got  to 
be  sure.  'Cordin*  to  Jenkins,  she  mostly  drops 
anchor  in  Puertocito  before  sundown  of  a 
Wednesday." 

"Oh,  all  right,  go  ahead  and  worry  then. 
That'll  help.  Jenkins  showed  up  yet?" 


180  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

"No,  he  ain't,  an'  that's  another  thing;  his 
train  is  on  time  an'  due  now,  if  you'll  look  at 
this  here  board." 

A  hack  stopped  at  the  door,  and  an  American 
shoe  drummer  flung  his  hand  baggage  to  the 
hotel  porter  and  stepped  out.  Yes,  he  said, 
he  had  come  up  on  the  train  from  Puertocito; 
and  wasn't  this  a  likely  town  for  business? 

"His  train's  in  all  right,"  Slag  mumbled, 
"an*  it's  breakfast  time.  Where  in  blazes  do 
you  reckon  Jenkins  is?" 

Two  more  hacks  with  passengers  arrived  from 
the  depot,  and  beside  the  driver  on  the  last, 
was  the  hotel  runner  himself.  Still  no  Jenkins. 
Slag  questioned  the  hotel  runner.  No,  he  hadn't 
seen  the  Seflor  Jenkins.  Another  conductor 
had  brought  up  the  train. 

Slag  filled  the  air  with  anathemas.  "Stuff's 
off,"  and  he  cursed  again.  "We  cain't  git  our 
man  out  o*  the  country  without  Jenkins."  Much 
profanity  left  him  haggard,  yet  did  not  cease. 
In  the  afternoon  he  walked  out  on  the  Paseo. 
Derringer  met  him  at  the  hotel  on  his  return. 

"The  upper- story  window  was  open,"  Slag 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  181 

announced.  "That  was  her  signal  that  she'd 
seen  her  pa  this  mornin',  an*  to  go  ahead. 
Go  ahead?  Hell!  No  train,  no  boat,  there's 
no  goin'  ahead  to-night." 

Derringer  thought  of  the  opening  of  that 
window,  of  the  girl  as  she  raised  the  sash, 
and  her  anguish  in  a  last  flickering  hope,  of 
which  the  simple  act  was  a  token. 

"But  the  boat  is  in,  Con,"  he  said.  "She's 
down  on  the  bulletin  board." 

"An'  she  can  stay  on  the  bulletin  board  for 
all  the  good  she'll  do  us  without  Jenkins.  The 
stuff's  off,  I  tell  you." 

They  went  to  the  cafe,  and  sat  in  gloom. 
With  Derringer,  youth  and  optimism  rebelled, 
and  a  something  in  him  new  and  better,  the 
thought  of  a  girl  and  of  her  thoughts  this  long 
day,  made  a  host  of  three  that  would  not  down  — 
youth  and  optimism  and  the  thought  of  a  girl! 
He  knew  that  he  would  attempt  the  deed  alone, 
failing  Slag.  But  how?  How?  He  could 
never  quite  figure  that  out.  Each  time  he 
brought  up  against  the  need  and  the  lack  of 
a  railroad  train.  He  grew  aware  that  his  wits 


182  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

were  fagged  out,  that  they  were  travelling  the 
same  groove,  and  that  the  groove  was  always 
blocked  at  the  end  by  railroad  tracks  where 
no  train  was  waiting. 

Dusk  began  to  gather  outside,  and  there  was 
a  clatter  of  hoofs  and  wheels  on  the  cobble-stones. 
These  were  the  hacks  that  had  met  the  day 
train  from  the  coast,  but  they  failed  to  rouse 
the  jailbreaker  and  his  companion.  Then  the 
door  slammed  open,  and  Jenkins  walked  in. 

"Well,  of  all  the  things,"  said  Jenkins,  cutting 
short  Slag's  abuse,  "if  a  man  can't  be  took 
decently  sick  and  lay  up  a  few  hours  without 
being  singed  all  over  for  it  by  language,  I  want 
to  know!" 

"But  it  weren't  no  time  to  be  sick,"  roared 
Slag. 

"Look  here,  Con,"  said  Jenkins,  "I  wish 
you'd  step  on  that  voice  and  soften  her  up 
some.  And  I'd  have  you  notice  that  I  got  well 
enough  by  this  morning  to  bring  up  Number 
Three,  which,"  he  continued,  lowering  his  voice, 
"still  gave  me  time  enough  to  see  and  talk  to 
Cap  Ben  Blackburn.  His  old  raft  dropped 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  183 

anchor  outside  during  the  night.  Now  maybe 
you  can  take  a  gimlet  and  screw  it  into  your 
skull,  why  I  happened  to  be  took  sick.  If  not, 
just  keep  the  gimlet,  and  throw  the  skull  away. 
One  of  them's  worth  fifteen  cents." 

"  What  did  Blackburn  say  ?" 

"  Blowing  guns  of  some  description  off  Trini- 
dad. He " 

Slag  smote  the  table.     "What  did  he  say?" 

"He  was  thinking  he'd  shift  cargo  some, 
Which  would  take  him  till  to-morrow  morning." 

"Is  he  with  us  on  this  deal?     Yes  or  no?" 

"What  would  he  want  to  shift  cargo  for? 
Don  Pedro  is  an  old  pal  or  something  o'  his. 
And  I  take  out  the  train  to-night,  as  usual.  So 
it's  up  to  you  fellows.  Are  you  ready  ?" 

Cornelius  Slag,  jailbreaker,  rose,  stretched 
his  long  arms  over  his  head,  and  yawned. 
"Bout  ready  for  supper,  yes." 

"All  right,"  said  Jenkins,  "but  try  to  remem- 
ber this  time  to  bring  back  what  you  go  after. 
And  don't  forget,  either,  that  I  pull  out  at  ten. 
Can't  wait  any  longer  than  that.  Now  I'm 
going  to  get  some  sleep."  He  stopped,  and  turned 


184  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

back  to  them.  "Might  never  see  you  again, 
you  know,"  he  said.  Absent-mindedly,  he  put 
a  hand  on  Slag's  shoulder,  and  drew  it  away 
when  he  happened  to  notice.  Next  he  was 
curling  Derringer's  red  forelock  about  his  finger. 
"Gee,"  he  said  abruptly,  "but  I'm  sleepy!" 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

IT  WAS  eight  o'clock  and  dark  when 
Slag  and  Derringer  finished  supper, 
and  Slag  sauntered  out  to  the  front 
doorway,  picking  his  teeth.  Across  the  street, 
on  the  Plaza,  the  palms  under  the  arc  lights 
invited  humankind  to  indolence,  and  the  musi- 
cians in  the  bandstand  were  languidly  tuning 
up  for  the  first  serenaia  of  the  evening.  The 
jailbreaker  leered  at  the  seductive,  festive  night 
out  of  doors,  seemingly,  like  the  shoe  drummer 
and  other  lounging  guests,  wondering  how  he 
should  amuse  himself  till  bedtime  or  later. 

A  hostler  from  a  livery  stable  appeared, 
leading  two  saddled  horses.  The  horses  were  not 
admirable  specimens.  One  was  stringhalted, 
and  jerked  up  a  hind  leg  in  an  abrupt  and 
unreliable  manner.  The  other  wheezed;  he 
had  been  heard  approaching  for  two  minutes 
past.  Both  were  observed  to  have  ribs  or 

185 


186  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

anatomical  corrugations,  and  hip  and  shoulder 
bones  distended  the  hide  in  curious  lumps. 
They  seemed  downcast  and  melancholy. 

"Hey,  you  mozo,  here  I  am,"  Slag  called  to 
the  stable  boy.  The  shoe  drummer  laughed. 
"Aw,"  protested  Slag,  "that's  my  string  of 
horseflesh." 

He  persisted  in  the  quaint  notion  that  he  had 
adopted  the  creatures.  Furthermore,  the  stable 
boy  bore  him  out  by  delivering  the  halters  into 
his  hands.  Slag  stroked  their  manes,  defiant 
of  mirth,  and  the  disreputable  scrubs  cheered 
up  and  cocked  their  heads  at  him  gratefully. 
They  had  cause  for  gratitude.  They  had  been 
condemned  to  the  bullring,  and  their  new 
master  had  found  them  there. 

Derringer  came  down  from  his  room,  garbed 
in  golf-cycling  clothes.  When  he  saw  the  two 
horses  and  Slag  and  the  grinning  throng  that 
was  assembling,  he  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets 
and  smiled. 

"Come  on,"  said  Slag.  "Which  one  you 
want?" 

Derringer  shook  his  head  positively.     "Not 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  187 

on  your  life,  Con,"  he  said.  "You'll  need 
them  both,  and  then  some." 

Slag  urged  him  and  swore.  What  had  the 
kid  said  he  wanted  to  pasear  on  horseback  for, 
then?  Derringer  replied  that  he  believed  he 
had  changed  his  mind,  and  he  coolly  pushed 
through  the  laughing  crowd  and  strolled  over 
to  the  Plaza.  Slag  ruefully  watched  him  go, 
then  for  a  minute  contemplated  the  two  horses. 
"Here,  mozo,"  he  burst  forth  suddenly,  "take 
'em  back  to  the  stable."  The  mozo,  however, 
had  departed,  and  there  was  nothing  for  Slag  but 
to  take  them  back  himself.  He  left  on  foot, 
mid  cheers,  tugging  at  the  halters. 

Over  on  the  Plaza,  Derringer  soon  wearied 
of  the  music  and  the  languorously  pretty  girls. 
He  thought  he  had  had  enough  of  that  atmos- 
phere as  a  tonic  inciting  to  adventure,  and 
catching  sight  of  Major  De  Marzi  before  De 
Marzi  caught  sight  of  him,  he  quit  the  place. 

Leaving  the  Plaza  behind,  he  turned  into  a 
narrow  street  and  kept  on  until  he  came  to  the 
bicycle  shop  of  which  he  was  proprietor.  With 
a  heavy  iron  key  he  unlocked  the  door  and 


188  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

entered.  Directly  he  reappeared,  pushing  the 
tandem.  At  once  he  mounted  and  was  off, 
not  bothering  to  lock  the  door  behind  him. 
"To  the  first  harpy  the  spoils/*  he  said  to  him- 
self, laughing,  eager,  hot  on  the  future  of  the 
hour  hence  and  all  it  should  unfold. 

His  course  was  devious,  bumping  over  the 
cobble-stones  of  crooked  streets,  now  on  the 
broad  Paseo  of  Palms,  and  then  on  a  lonely 
and  dusty  burro  trail  threading  the  cactus  plain 
toward  the  mountains.  "Good  thing  they're 
cushion  tires,"  he  thought  when  a  thorn  speared 
his  ankle.  He  turned  into  a  cross  trail,  heading 
for  the  double-towered  church  at  the  end  of  the 
Paseo.  Thus  he  passed  along  the  rear  wall  of 
the  hospital  compound. 

The  cluster  of  low  buildings  within  were 
ghostly  white,  and  as  silent  and  desolate  under 
the  stars  as  a  monastery  of  the  desert.  On  the 
front  the  Paseo  was  deserted,  and  the  spectral 
blank  of  side  and  rear  walls,  flanked  by  the 
spiny  wilderness,  might  have  been  an  abandoned 
oasis  khan  of  Arabia.  There  were  palms 
within  the  compound,  and  these  put  out  their 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  189 

plumes  so  high  aloft  that  they  were  rather  of 
the  firmament  above  than  of  dust  and  crawling 
things.  The  tiled  roofs  of  the  bungalow-like 
wards  of  the  hospital  rose  but  a  little  higher 
than  the  surrounding  walls,  so  that  the  few  dim 
lights  were  not  to  be  seen  from  outside,  fulfilling 
the  illusion  of  dreary  solitude. 

Here  was  an  odd  destination  for  a  lone  cyclist. 
Well,  it  was  a  bizarre  destiny  that  had  brought 
him  hither. 

The  figure  of  a  man  rose  from  the  brush, 
and  caught  the  tandem  by  the  handle.  "Stow 
it  away,"  he  whispered,  "here,  against  the  wall. 
An'  say,  you  red-headed  rooster,  you  thought 
that  was  pretty  gay,  didn't  you,  leavin'  me 
to  git  them  nags  out  o*  that  fool  mob  by 
myself." 

"Oh,"  Derringer  whispered  back  at  him, 
"then  are  you  also  one  who  has  suffered?" 
It  was  his  revenge  for  the  tandem  infliction. 
"But,  I  don't  see  the  horses  ?" 

"'Tain't  likely.  But  they're  handy  all  right, 
over  in  that  scrub  oak,  the  three  of  'em." 

"  The  three  ?     Then " 


190  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"Yes,  Miss  Bess  sent  that  saddle  mare  o'  her'n, 
as  she  said  she  would.  That  horse  is  made  o' 
fire  an'  needles,  'side  o'  them  other  two.  Lend 
a  hand  with  this  here  tackle." 

He  led  to  a  thick  clump  of  prickly  pear,  and 
groped  among  the  thorns  with  hands  gaunt- 
letted  in  buckskin.  The  end  of  a  beam  rose 
out  of  the  jungle,  and  Derringer  caught  hold, 
and  together  they  dragged  out  Slag's  recent  bit 
of  carpentering.  It  looked  like  a  gibbet  for 
hanging  a  thief.  There  was  the  upright  post, 
and  the  arm  at  the  top,  and  even  the  rope  dang- 
ling from  the  end  of  the  arm.  But  instead  of 
a  single  rope  and  noose,  this  was  a  rope  ladder; 
and  also,  on  the  upright,  cleats  of  wood  were 
nailed  across,  making  that  into  a  chicken  lad- 
der. 

The  jailbreaker  felt  the  scaffolding  over,  and 
in  professional  pride  made  comments.  Here 
was  more  than  book-learning  —  i.e.,  Derringer. 
More  than  statecraft  —  i.e.,  the  doomed  pris- 
oner. Here  was  Specific  Experience.  Thus 
might  Slag's  reflections  be  translated.  At  the 
king's  bedside  the  mighty  of  the  earth  make 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  191 

way  for  the  physician.  The  scowling,  rough- 
neck jail  breaker  was  Master. 

"H'ist  her  now  —  Hold  so." 

Between  them  they  stood  the  gibbet  thing 
against  the  wall  at  a  spot  carefully  located 
by  Slag,  and  twisted  it  half  round  until  the  pro- 
jecting arm  lay  across  the  top  of  the  wall. 

"There  now,"  murmured  the  jailbreaker, 
"the  next  move  is  his'n." 

One  or  the  other  kept  an  ear  to  the  wall. 
Everywhere  the  quality  of  the  universe  was 
silence  in  darkness.  It  seemed  the  most  unlikely 
of  all  precarious  human  events  that  there  should 
come  a  sound  of  dull  tapping  on  the  other  side 
of  that  wall.  The  torpid  minute  dragged  its 
length  more  and  more  slowly  over  the  edge  of 
eternity,  and  the  two  men  alone  there  in  South 
America  began  to  doubt  if  any  token  from 
one  of  their  own  kind  were  among  happenings 
predestined  and  arranged.  They  reasoned 
heroically,  and  memory  contradicted  doubt, 
but  memory  in  dark  solitude  is  a  gossamer 
anchor  chain  that  ravels  steadily. 

"  Why  in  blazes  don't  he  come  ?" 


192  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

Now  and  again  Slag's  low  growl  rallied  them, 
and  they  fell  back  on  memory.  They  recalled 
what  the  daughter  of  the  prisoner  inside  had  told 
them.  They  pictured  a  row  of  stone  cells,  each 
cell  with  a  door  and  a  barred  window  opening 
on  the  yard  of  the  compound.  This  row  was 
the  criminal  and  political  ward.  A  guard  with 
bayonetted  carbine  patrolled  back  and  forth 
before  the  doors.  If  the  entombed  sick  had 
friends  in  the  world  outside  who  still  loved 
them  enough,  or  money  enough,  they  were  not 
required  to  subsist  on  the  state  diet  of  bread 
and  water  and  codfish  and  beans.  The  physi- 
cians approving,  they  might  even  have  their 
wines  and  cognacs.  The  guard  with  the  car- 
bine particularly  approved.  Here  was  a  source 
of  perquisites,  and  consolation  for  not  being 
detached  on  service  at  the  big  front  gates,  where 
his  brother  guards  often  seized  and  kissed 
warm-cheeked  girls  on  their  way  to  mass. 

So  it  happened  that  Don  Pedro  had  his 
liquors,  and  the  guard,  who  would  gladly  have 
run  Don  Pedro  through  at  the  least  move, 
deigned  to  share  these  delicacies  with  him. 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  193 

Cornelius  Slag,  jailbreaker,  reluctantly  per- 
mitted himself  to  utilize  a  measure  so  hackneyed 
in  the  profession,  but  here  it  was  so  obviously 
and  providentially  ordained  that  he  weakened, 
especially  as  all  his  wits  could  offer  no  ingenious 
substitute.  The  old  remedies  are  often  the 
best.  So  the  jailbreaker,  half  ashamed,  had 
confided  to  the  daughter  of  Don  Pedro  a  vial 
of  "drops,"  and  Don  Pedro  was  to  administer 
the  same  according  to  directions. 

Therefore,  here  and  now,  in  the  silence  of 
the  universe,  the  hope  of  a  doomed  man  hung 
on  the  customary  thirst  of  a  fellow  creature 
with  carbine  and  bayonet. 

"  Why  the  blazes  don't  he  come  ?" 

They  could  not  draw  the  complete  picture 
behind  that  spectral  blank  of  wall.  At  that 
moment  perhaps,  for  all  the  stillness  of  the 
world,  Don  Pedro  lay  on  his  cot,  a  gag  in  his 
mouth,  writhing  in  agony,  while  Colonel  Morder 
patiently,  suavely,  asked  of  him  a  secret  he  did 
not  know. 

"Hush!" 

"I  am  hushing." 


194  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

The  token,  when  it  did  come,  astounded 
them  mightily.  Their  ears  to  the  wall,  they 
heard,  very  faintly,  a  "Tap-tap!  — Tap!" 

Both  acted.  Slag  pushed  the  upright  beam 
of  the  gibbet  flush  against  the  wall  and  braced 
his  weight  against  it.  Derringer  scaled  it  by 
the  cleats,  and,  lying  on  the  wall,  he  dropped 
the  rope  ladder  that  hung  from  the  projecting 
arm  over  into  the  hospital  yard.  It  was  very 
dark  below,  and  he  could  not  see,  but  after  a 
little  he  grew  aware  of  a  stealthy  tugging  on 
the  rope  ladder.  Some  one  was  making  the 
lower  end  fast. 

"Who  are  you  ?  "  whispered  Derringer. 

A  pause;  then  a  smothered  reply  —  "Boston." 
The  Senorita  herself  had  devised  that  counter- 
sign. It  could  occur  to  no  one  else  in  all  Sylvan- 
litlan,  she  calculated.  Don  Pedro  de  Las 
Augustias,  who  had  tried  to  be  emperor,  was 
at  the  foot  of  the  ladder. 

Derringer  rejoined  Slag,  and  together  they 
waited  for  the  man  who  should  come  over  the 
wall.  The  seconds  passed  while  they  gazed 
upward,  and  still  no  head  appeared.  Yes,  he 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  195 

had  started.  They  felt  the  strain  communicated 
down  the  scaffolding,  and  they  put  their  com- 
bined weight  to  the  beam  to  keep  it  to  the  wall. 
The  joint  at  the  projecting  arm  creaked  horribly. 
Slowly  above  the  wall  there  grew  a  shadow}7 
blot,  the  head  of  a  man,  which  itself  grew; 
shoulders,  bust  and  torso;  and  a  moment  later 
a  cloaked  figure,  commanding  and  stately,  stood 
on  the  wall. 

"Of  all  cussed  fools,"  hissed  Slag.  "Lay 
low,  you,  lay  low! " 

The  man  peered  down  uncertainly  into  the 
darkness. 

"Kneel,  and  feel  with  your  foot.  So,  that's 
right.  —  Now  you're  on  the  chicken  ladder.  — 
And  now  —  you're  —  free! " 

The  man  stepped  to  the  ground  between 
them.  Slag  clapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 
"Put  her  there,  Don  Pedro  —  shake!" 

The  man  drew  back  hastily,  wrapping  his 
cloak  about  him. 

"Oh,  if  you  feel  that  way  about  it!"  muttered 
Slag.  "Yet  you  might  hand  over  that  money 
your  daughter  brought  you  for  me  this  morninV 


196  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

The  man  started  violently.     "  Eh  ?  " 

:*You  know  all  right,  my  high  an*  mighty," 
Slag  insisted.  "It's  my  fee,  in  draft  or  cash, 
thirty-three  thousand  dollars.  Hand  it  over,  an' 
we're  quits." 

"Eh?"  came  the  stifled  voice  behind  the 
cloak.  "Eh?  Dios  miol  I  forgot  —  I  have 
forgotten  it.  Wait,  I  will  return." 

With  startling  agility  he  pushed  them  away, 
and  went  clambering  back  up  the  ladder. 

The  money  might  be  left  behind,  and  welcome. 
Not  for  that  would  Derringer  let  the  Senorita's 
father  return  within  those  walls.  He  seized  hold 
on  the  cloak,  and  the  cloak  fell  away  in  his  grip. 
JHe  jumped,  and  his  arm  circled  the  ankle  of  a 
spurred  boot.  The  man  toppled  backward, 
and  went  heavily  to  the  ground.  Slag  struck 
a  match,  and  flashed  it  in  the  man's  face.  In- 
stantly, Derringer  leaped  for  the  man's  throat. 

"  Choke  him,  choke  him ! "  he  sobbed.  "  It's 
Colonel  Morder!" 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

THEY  had  loosed  the  wrong  bird.  As 
the  match  flashed  they  saw  a  profile 
bold  and  cruel.  The  man  struggled 
to  twist  free  the  revolver  at  his  belt.  Slag's 
fist,  as  big  as  a  mallet,  swung  roundly  to  the 
man's  head,  and  the  man's  knees  shut  like 
hinges.  They  rolled  him  over  on  his  back, 
stuffed  a  handkerchief  in  his  mouth  and  trussed 
him  with  strips  ripped  from  the  cloak. 

"Now  for  our  get-away,"  gasped  Slag,  spring- 
ing to  his  feet.  "  Quick,  come  on ! " 

"What's  the  hurry?"  Derringer's  voice  at 
his  ear  vibrated  like  a  snarl. 

"Come  on!" 

"Go,  then!  Save  your  carcass  if  you  want, 

but "  The  boy  was  scaling  the  cleats  to 

the  top  of  the  wall. 

Slag  understood,  and  caught  him  by  the  foot. 
"Listen  here,  Blaze,"  he  pleaded,  "I  cain't  let 


you  go!" 


197 


198  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

:<You  might  try,  though,"  and  the  heel  of  a 
shoe  struck  a  pain  so  sharp  through  his  wrist 
that  he  let  go.  Derringer  squirmed  over  the  top 
of  the  wall.  A  moment  later  he  was  in  the 
hospital  yard. 

On  the  ground  at  the  foot  of  the  rope  ladder, 
Derringer  made  out  the  form  of  a  man.  That 
was  as  he  had  expected,  and  why  he  had  come. 
No  one  but  Don  Pedro  himself  could  have  given 
those  signal  taps.  No  one  else  could  have  given 
the  word,  "Boston." 

What,  then,  had  happened  ? 

Colonel  Morder,  passing  through  the  hospital 
yard  on  torture  resolved,  had  stumbled  over 
the  body  of  the  guard  at  the  open  door  of  Don 
Pedro's  cell.  Swiftly  and  silently  Morder  had 
then  come  up  behind  his  prisoner  in  the  act 
of  climbing  a  rope  ladder.  He  had  struck  his 
prisoner  with  the  butt  of  his  revolver,  and  had 
climbed  the  ladder  in  his  place.  He  hoped  to 
learn  from  Don  Pedro's  friends  on  the  other 
side  some  clue  to  the  hidden  fortune.  Instead  a 
strange  American  voice  demanded  thousands 
of  dollars  of  him.  Precious  and  tantalizing 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  199 

information !  To  return  and  take  the  thousands 
of  dollars  from  his  prostrate  prisoner;  that  had 
been  Morder's  thought. 

Derringer  figured  it  so.  He  passed  a  hand 
over  the  body;  found  that  the  heart  was  beat- 
ing. He  glanced  upward.  The  wall  looked 
mountain-high,  but  he  lifted  the  emaciated 
body  until  it  doubled  inertly  over  his  shoulder; 
and  inch  by  inch,  he  struggled  up  the  rope 
ladder  with  his  burden.  At  the  top  he  gripped 
the  wrists,  and  lowered  the  body  over  the  wall. 
All  at  once  the  strain  of  the  weight  eased  on 
his  muscles. 

"Let  him  come!" 

So  Slag  had  waited.     Good  old  Slag! 

The  jailbreaker  received  the  burden,  and 
spilled  it  gently  to  the  ground.  Derringer  cut 
the  rope  ladder  with  his  knife,  letting  it  fall 
into  the  yard  below,  and  climbed  down  beside 
Slag.  The  jailbreaker  was  busily  working  a 
sweater  over  the  head  and  shoulders  of  the  limp 
Don  Pedro. 

"Here,  help  with  the  pants,"  he  ordered, 
unrolling  a  pair  of  knickerbockers  from  a  bundle. 


200  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

Instead,  Derringer  tilted  a  whiskey  flask  to  the 
prisoner's  lips. 

"  What  did  you  do  with  Morder  ?  " 

"  Just  dragged  him  off  out  o'  hearin'.  By  grab, 
I  never  knew  it  was  so  hard  to  dress  a  man!" 
He  had  slipped  the  knickerbockers  over  Don 
Pedro's  trousers,  and  was  adding  the  stockings. 

"Look,  he  stirred  then!  He  stirred,  I 
tell  you!  Rub  his  hands  or  something,  he's 
coming  to." 

"Bout  time,  too,  'less  we  leave  him  here. 
Listen,  did  you  hear  that  ?" 

They  both  heard  plainly  enough;  first  a 
little  panicky  squeal  of  alarm  within  the  com- 
pound; then  a  pattering  of  sandalled  feet.  A 
nurse  or  servant  had  blundered  on  the  uncon- 
scious guard. 

Slag  caught  up  Don  Pedro  under  the  arm-pits, 
and  stood  him  against  the  wall.  "I  never  seen 
such  a  man,"  he  grumbled.  "Why  don't  he 
do  some  more  o'  that  stirrin'  ?  We  cain't " 

The  pattering  of  feet  died  away.  Loud  voices, 
a  yell  and  a  gunshot,  split  the  silence.  The  alarm 
had  roused  the  sentry  at  the  front  gates.  An 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  201 

awakening  tcl  amour  of  blurred  shouts  and  firing 
answered  across  the  Paseo  on  the  prison  towers. 

"They'll  still  need  five  minutes  to  guess  what 
it's  all  about,"  said  Slag.  "Blowed  if  I  don't 
stick  a  pin  in  him ! " 

"No  you  won't!  He's —  "  The  shooting  on 
the  prison  walls  blazed  into  a  fusillade.  "  There, 
that  brought  him  .  .  .  Now,  now,  Don 
Pedro." 

"Give  him  more  whiskey.  A  live  man  can 
understand  whiskey.  Now  bring  your  tandem 
—  set  him  on  it." 

They  straddled  the  limp  form  over  the  front 
seat. 

"What's  that?" 

A  voice  between  them,  hollow  and  faint,  was 
laboriously  making  sounds. 

"Hi,  sing  the  Doxology,  he's  woke  up!" 
cried  Slag.  "  What's  he  say  ?  " 

"He's  talking  about  brave  rescuers  —  Put 
his  feet  on  the  pedals." 

"They  won't  stay  put,"  and  Slag  took  the 
last  of  a  line  of  emperors  by  the  shoulder  and 
respectfully  shook  him. 


202  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"My  brave  rescuers -" 

"He  thinks  he's  a  mellydramer,"  Slag 
groaned.  "Here,  Don  Pedro,  stiffen  your  legs. 
Now  push,  push  like " 

The  clamour  over  at  the  prison  had  travelled 
like  a  crackling  flame  and  leaped  up  anew  at 
the  hospital  gate.  There  were  loud,  vague 
explanations,  and  curses,  and  scurrying  of 
feet. 

"But  I  do  not  understand,'*  Don  Pedro  was 
protesting.  He  kicked  back  his  heel  as  though 
it  wore  a  spur.  "My  charger,  my  horse,  he 
does  not  move." 

"You  are  dazed  yet,"  said  Derringer.  "It's 
not  a  horse,  it's  a  bicycle.  I'll  mount  behind. 
Now  —  quick " 

"Sefiores!"  An  ocean  of  insulted  dignity 
swept  the  word  upon  their  ears.  Before  they 
knew  what  he  was  about,  and  trembling  as  in 
a  chill,  Don  Pedro  cleared  himself  of  the  tandem, 
and  stood,  lank,  dignified  and  indignant. 

"  What  the  devil !"  gasped  Slag. 

"Gentlemen."  He  spoke  sorrowfully.  :<You 
mistake,  gentlemen.  I  am  not  a  gamin,  I  am 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  203 

not  a  circus  performer.  Don  Pedro,  gentlemen, 
must  have  a  steed  of  mettle." 

"An'  you  got  one.  Get  on  now,  an*  hurry 
about  it!" 

A  cannon  on  the  prison  wall  boomed  forth. 

"Lord  save  us!"  moaned  Slag.  "Now  they're 
callin'  out  the  army!"  He  glared  around  him. 
"Anyhow,  it's  my  move,  all  right.  I'm  goin'." 

"Wait!"  The  tone  was  of  command.  Don 
Pedro  was  speaking.  He  handed  Slag  a  long 
envelope  sealed  with  wax.  "My  daughter  en- 
gaged me  to  give  you  this.  Now  you  may  go." 

The  jailbreaker  snatched  the  packet,  but 
hesitated.  "Blaze,"  he  said,  "bring  off  the 
queer  old  duck  if  you  can.  He's  game,  anyhow, 
but  you  cain't  wait.  Sounds  like  a  regiment 
hot-footin'  up  the  Paseo  now.  An*  I  cain't 
help  you.  I  got  to  be  doin'  the  decoy  stunt. 
So  long,  kid." 

They  heard  him  pounding  off  through  the 
brush.  They  could  almost  judge  when  he 
swung  into  the  saddle,  for  the  sound  of  hoofs 
came  to  them  immediately  after,  not  of  one  horse 
but  several.  The  jailbreaker  had  mounted  the 


204  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

mare,  and  was  leading  the  two  nags.  Shots 
were  fired  in  that  direction  from  the  Paseo, 
and  there  was  a  new  note  in  the  turmoil  —  yells 
of  discovery  and  men  running  in  pursuit.  Off 
to  the  right,  across  the  plain,  the  hoof  beats 
died  away.  The  Republic  of  Sylvanlitlan  did 
not  at  once  find  mounts  to  take  up  the  chase. 

It  was  a  good  plot.  It  worked  like  beautiful 
machinery.  Derringer  was  proud  of  it,  proud 
of  Slag;  and  now  to  have  such  a  plot  spoiled, 
that  was  the  last  exasperating  straw.  This 
hidalgo  grit  in  the  bearings,  wrecking  the  beau- 
tiful machinery!  He  turned,  full  of  fight,  on 
the  obstinate  Don  Quixote.  But  abruptly  he 
ceased  thinking  of  plots,  of  ruined  works  of 
art.  He  thought  of  this  prideful  fool's  daughter. 
She  was  waiting  in  the  great  house  of  the 
Augustias;  she  could  hear  the  din  and  shots. 
Only  she  knew  nothing  of  her  father. 

The  picture  of  her  flashed  and  was  gone. 
Slag  had  not  reached  his  horses  before  Derringer 
knew  a  way.  He  caught  Don  Pedro  by  the 
wrist,  heeding  nothing  of  haughty  protest,  and 
talked,  talked  swiftly  for  life. 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  205 

"Do  you  know  who  struck  you?  Who  came 
over  the  wall  in  your  place?"  He  gripped  the 
wrist  to  compel  attention.  "It  was  Morder. 
We  tied  him.  He  is  over  there  now.  Listen. 
Before  we  knew  who  he  was,  Slag  asked  him 
for  the  money  your  daughter  had  brought. 
You  understand  that?  You  understand  that 
Morder  knows  who  has  the  money  ?  They 
will  find  Morder  soon.  They  will  find  you. 
You  will  be  back  in  your  cell,  and  Morder  — 
your  daughter  —  eh,  you  do  understand,  do 

you?" 

"I  —  I  would  ride  a  donkey ! " 

"Well,  Christ  did,  as  for  that.  Now  get  on, 
quick!" 

Derringer  held  the  tandem  while  he  mounted, 
and  mounted  himself,  with  one  arm  braced 
against  the  wall.  Don  Pedro  found  the  pedals 
and  worked  valiantly.  Derringer  put  forth  his 
muscles,  shoved  clear  of  the  wall,  and  steered 
into  the  trail  that  had  brought  him  there. 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

A  ATMOSPHERE  murky  with  ill-humour 
enveloped  the  depot  of  the  Ferrocarril 
Internacional.  The  arc  lights  under 
the  train  shed  sputtered  fretfully.  Also  did  the 
passengers  who  had  a  boat  to  catch  the  next 
morning.  Neither  the  lights  nor  the  passengers 
were  altogether  unusual  in  this.  The  night 
train  for  the  coast  was  late  again,  that  was  all. 
She  was  already  made  up,  for  that  matter,  and 
simply  lay  dormant  under  the  shed  while  people 
told  each  other  good-bye  over  again.  Officials 
had  answered  questions  until  their  mood  was 
rancid.  The  division  superintendent  stood 
under  the  cab  window  of  the  engine,  and  was 
asking  a  few  of  the  engineer  on  his  own  account. 
He  recommended  the  "old  man"  to  wait  for 
breakfast  before  starting.  The  "old  man" 
threw  down  a  handful  of  waste  and  invited 
the  superintendent  to  run  his  old  scrap  pile 

206 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  207 

himself.  Then  he  bent  again  to  an  essential  bit 
of  repairing. 

"Say,  Sam,"  asked  the  fireman,  "what's  the 
matter  with  her,  anyhow?" 

"These  here  brass  letters,"  replied  the  engi- 
neer, rubbing  them  hard  with  the  waste.  'You 
know  plenty  well,  Jim,  it  ain't  safe  to  run  an 
engine  'less  you  can  see  any  time  who  her  maker 
is.  And  you  might  be  thinkin'  about  your  own 
if  you  got  any  more  o'  them  inkries  in  your  kit." 

The  fireman  had  no  more  inquiries.  They 
were  waiting  for  their  conductor,  he  knew  that 
well  enough.  Jenkins  was  out  riding  that  fool 
tandem  again,  and  he  must  have  got  a  puncture 
or  something.  At  any  rate,  the  "old  man" 
was  blocking  traffic  with  a  handful  of  waste. 
The  "old  man"  and  Jenkins  were  steadfast 
pals,  and  Jim  revered  such  friendship.  He 
hoped  they  would  let  him  in  some  day  when  he 
grew  old  enough. 

The  fireman  was  a  bright  and  likely  lad, 
but  the  "old  man"  was  surcharged  with  more 
things  secretive  than  he  ever  dreamed  of.  And 
at  the  far  rear  end  of  the  train  there  was  another 


208  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

live  wire.  The  name  of  this  other  live  wire 
was  Ebony.  Ebony  was  the  porter  of  the 
sleeping  car.  The  car  had  been  American, 
and  nobody  of  his  colour  could  be  more  Ameri- 
can than  Ebony.  He  was  therefore  the  poten- 
tate of  that  car.  He  owed  allegiance  to  no 
sleeping-car  conductor,  since  there  was  none, 
though  he  did  permit  Mr.  Jenkins  to  levy  taxes 
through  the  length  of  his  realm. 

Ebony's  woolly  head  was  flustered  and  enor- 
mously knowing  this  night.  With  duster  he 
dusted  perfunctorily,  whether  passengers  or 
upholstery.  He  dusted  rearward,  where  the 
lights  were  dim,  and  where  the  drawing 
room  was  closed  tightly.  Often  he  paused  and 
cocked  his  important  head  sideways.  Either 
this  was  a  cocky  manifestation,  or  because  he 
was  listening.  Then  he  did  hear  something, 
which  caused  him  to  speed,  keys  in  hand, 
through  the  narrow  and  dark  corridor,  and 
unlock  the  rear  door.  Two  men  brushed  past 
him  out  of  the  darkness  of  the  platform.  One 
of  the  two  men  supported  the  other,  who  was 
long  and  thin  and  haggard. 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  209 

"Great  day!"  gasped  Ebony.  "This  way, 
gemmen,  this  way." 

The  door  of  the  drawing  room  opened,  and 
Jenkins  hastened  them  inside. 

There  was  a  quick,  sunny  warmth  of  welcome 
in  Jenkins's  eyes.  "You  been  hearing  any 
rumours  we're  doing  stationary  railroading 
here  ?  "  he  growled.  "  Now,  Mr.  Blaze  Derringer, 
you  stand  up  and  recite  what  kept  you  so  long. 
Here  I  been  changing  from  them  golf  clothes 
into  my  uniform  for  a  half-hour,  pretty  near. 
One  of  these  days  they'll  call  me  up  on  the 
carpet,  and  I'll  get  scolded.  —  This  Don  Peter? 
Why,  howdy,  Don,  pleased  to  meet  you,  sir.  — 
Now  let  me  out." 

Derringer  started  to  follow. 

"One  minute."  In  sepulchral  volume  Don 
Pedro  had  spoken. 

Don  Pedro's  nose  was  arched,  his  eyes  calm 
and  imperious,  and  his  cheeks  hollow,  one  being 
marked  by  a  raw  scar.  Despite  the  scar  and 
the  pasty  white  of  his  skin,  he  was  the  tenacious, 
wiry  aristocrat  all  the  way  through.  There 
was  no  pose  about  him,  however  his  absurdities 


210  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

may  have  seemed  in  the  dark.  The  absurdities 
were  part  of  his  being.  If  you  transplant 
anachronisms  back  in  another  age,  they  flower 
seasonably.  Don  Pedro  was  a  planet  out  of 
its  orbit,  but  he  was  a  planet  nevertheless. 
Only  a  tremendously  greater  force  might  hold 
him  fixed. 

"  Wait,"  Derringer  whispered  to  Jenkins  out 
of  his  recent  wisdom.  "There's  going  to  be 
trouble." 

Don  Pedro  was  regarding  the  young  Texan 
with  kindly  eyes.  He  held  out  a  long  sealed 
envelope  such  as  he  had  given  Slag. 

"There  is  a  New  York  draft  within  for " 

Derringer  turned  away  impatiently.  Quite 
in  an  instant  he  realized  that  he  could  not 
cheapen  his  adventure  so.  He  was  not  a  pot 
hunter.  The  sportsman  in  him  rebelled.  Don 
Pedro  smiled  understandingly,  and  returned  the 
envelope  to  his  pocket. 

"Quick,"  said  Jenkins,  "hurry  up  your  row. 
We  ain't  got  all  night " 

"And  here,"  calmly  proceeded  Don  Pedro, 
"  is  a  third  draft  for  the  Senor  Jenkins.  Take 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  211 

it,  for  I  see  that  my  daughter  is  not  here  to  go 
with  me,  and  therefore  I  must  remain  behind 
to  protect  — " 

"The  row's  on!"  cried  Derringer.  He  had 
provided  himself  with  a  towel  from  the  rack. 
In  a  trice  he  had  it  over  Don  Pedro's  mouth, 
and  was  tying  the  ends  behind  his  head.  Jen- 
kins snatched  down  more  towels  for  wrists  and 
ankles.  There  was  no  time  for  other  argument. 
They  laid  him  on  the  couch,  and  left  him. 
Jenkins  locked  the  drawing-room  door  after 
him,  gave  the  key  to  Ebony,  and  a  moment 
later  was  outside,  waving  his  lantern  to  the 
engineer.  "Vdmanos,  vdmanos!"  Brakemen 
echoed  the  warning,  and  the  train  began  to 
move.  Derringer  swung  off  in  the  switch  yards 
just  beyond. 

He  watched  the  receding  outline  of  the  last 
coach,  the  two  green  lanterns  like  dragon  eyes 
glowing  in  the  dark.  He  sighed  as  one  who 
lays  down  a  heavy  valise. 

"It's  been  bully  —  bully,"  he  murmured  to 
himself. 

Then  he  thought  of  Don  Pedro's  daughter, 


212  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

and  of  her  peril,  now  so  much  greater  than  her 
father's  had  been.  It  occurred  to  him  very 
abruptly  that  here  was  the  reason  why  he  had 
swung  off  the  train.  He  had  already  set  his 
teeth  in  the  knotty  problem  of  her  danger  when 
a  shrill  locomotive  whistle  rasped  every  loose 
end  of  a  nerve  in  his  body. 

The  whistle  was  a  cry  of  distress,  of  angry 
protest,  from  the  train  bearing  Don  Pedro.  It 
had  gone  barely  two  hundred  yards,  and  was 
curving  slowly  out  of  the  switch  yards.  Squarely 
on  the  track,  and  in  the  glare  of  the  headlight 
like  a  picture  thrown  on  a  screen,  Derringer 
saw  a  mounted  cavalryman  with  drawn  sword. 
He  was  ordering  the  iron  monster  to  halt. 

In  his  cab  the  "old  man'*  obeyed  the  waving 
sabre.  Air  brakes  hissed  and  screeched,  and 
the  heads  of  passengers  were  thumped  against 
the  backs  of  seats.  Troopers  flooded  through 
the  train,  while  the  "old  man"  sat  grimly,  his 
eyes  on  the  bell  cord  and  a  hand  petting  the 
throttle. 

In  the  sleeping  car,  in  the  drawing 
room,  Ebony  stood  like  a  dusky  Colossus, 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  213 

straddling  space,  a  foot  on  one  couch,  the  other 
foot  on  the  couch  opposite.  The  rest  of  him 
was  a  pose  for  Atlas.  His  arms  were  bowed 
over  his  head,  and  his  upturned  palms  were 
flattened  against  a  half -lowered  upper  berth. 
The  sweat  welled  forth  like  glass  beads  on  his 
forehead.  His  jaw  hung,  and  his  eyes  were 
white.  A  tense  voice  from  the  corridor,  Jen- 
kins's voice,  came  to  him.  "  Now!"  He  heaved 
upward,  straightening  his  arms,  and  the  berth 
closed  with  a  snap.  The  forward  door  of  the 
coach  slammed  open,  and  the  car  filled  with 
men  and  jangling  sabres.  They  scrutinized 
the  ceiling  and  under  the  seats,  and  frightened 
the  passengers  nigh  to  hysteria.  But  nothing 
else  happened. 

"Bien,  it  was  for  precaution  only,"  muttered 
the  pompous  colonel  of  the  troopers. 

This  colonel  was  Morder.  Trussed  and  swad- 
dled and  raging  in  the  cactus  brush,  he  had 
caused  five  running  pursuers  to  stumble  and 
fall  before  he  had  caused  himself  to  be  discovered. 
But  the  sixth  to  fall  did  not  get  up  and  plunge 
on  like  the  others.  He  tarried  to  draw  a  thorn 


214  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

from  his  foot  and  so  perceived  that  the  stumbling- 
block  was  a  man.  A  squad  of  cavalry  had 
already  departed  on  the  chase  of  Slag's  decoy, 
and,  the  main  body  of  the  troop  then  appearing, 
Morder  had  placed  himself  at  their  head  and 
led  them  back  to  the  city.  The  night  train  for 
the  coast,  just  pulling  out,  had  offered  a  chance 
for  a  display  of  vigilance.  As  it  was,  he  would 
have  much  ado  to  appease  the  hawk-eyed  little 
Presidente.  If  the  Presidente  should  ever 
believe  that  Morder  had  not  let  Don  Pedro 
escape,  considering  Don  Pedro's  power  to  pay, 
then,  thought  Morder,  the  wrong  man  was 
Presidente  of  Sylvanlitlan. 

Morder  released  the  train,  and  the  train 
took  the  curve  out  of  the  switchyard  and 
was  gone.  —  What  should  he  tell  that  little 
hawk  of  a  Presidente  ?  —  His  men  were 
mounting;  clanking  steel,  squeaking  leather, 
chafing  bits,  restless  hoofs  —  efficiency  incar- 
nate. What  should  be  his  next  command? 
What? 

Morder  wet  his  lips.  —  And  why  not  ?  Why 
not,  for  the  next  command  to  leave  his  lips, 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  215 

name  the  Executive  Palace  ?  Why  not  seize,  not 
the  man  who  would  be  ruler,  but  the  man  who 
was  ruler  ?  —  Morder  smiled  suavely,  waiting 
for  the  column  to  form. 

But  Sylvanlitlan  was  not  thrown  into  revolu- 
tion that  night.  A  spike  in  the  track  may  wreck 
a  train.  It  was  a  mattress  over  which  the 
colonel's  ambition  pitched  headlong.  The  mat- 
tress was  on  the  back  of  a  peon,  and  it  was 
doubled  and  wrapped  in  a  brown  blanket. 
The  peon  was  flanked  on  either  side  by  a 
mounted  rural  guard.  They  were  coming  into 
the  city  by  way  of  the  railroad  track.  The 
rural  guards  touched  their  caps  in  salute  and 
were  going  on  with  their  prisoner.  Morder 
waxed  curious. 

"  What  have  you  there  ?  " 

"A  thief,  my  colonel.  He  says  he  meant  to 
sell  them.  But  there  are  no  such  blankets  and 
mattresses  in  the  mountains,  and  therefore  he 
is  a  thief." 

Morder  leaned  over  and  took  an  end  of  the 
blanket  between  his  fingers. 

"You  are  a  fool,"  he  said  to  the  rural  guard; 


216  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

then  to  the  peon:  "Where  did  you  find  this 
stuff?" 

The  man,  sombrero  in  hand,  quaked  mis- 
erably. "At  the  service  of  your  benevo- 
lence   " 

"Answer  my  question,  animal." 

"With  permission,  I  —  they  —  were  hi  the 
ditch,  beside  the  railroad  track." 

"And  you  meant  to  sell  them?  You  could 
not  see  the  initial  here  in  the  corner  of  the 
blanket,  the  initial  of  the  sleeping-car  concession  ? 
—  Bah,  take  the  beast  on  to  jail." 

He  wheeled,  touched  a  spur  to  his  horse, 
rode  into  the  train  shed,  dismounted,  and  burst 
into  the  dispatcher's  office. 

"Get  San  Casimiro.  —  At  once,  never  mind 
your  trains.  —  Send  this: 

"  'Jose  Gavan,  lieutenant  commanding  can- 
tonment. 

"  'Stop  coast-bound  train.  Open  and  search 
every  berth  in  sleeping  car.  Personally  deliver 
to  me  here  by  morning  train  Pedro  de  Las 
Augustias,  escaped  prisoner. 

"  *MANRIQUE  MORDER,  Colonel  Fifth  Dra- 
goons, Legion  of  the  Andes,  Third  Army  Corps, 
Federal  Armies  of  the  Republic  of  Sylvanlitlan; 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  217 

Commandant  and  Inspector    General,  Federal 

Prisons    and    Fortresses,    Republic   of  Sylvan- 
litlan.' " 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

THE  coast-bound  rumbled  on  and  on 
across  the  moon-lit  plateau.  Softly 
blurred  silhouettes  of  palm  and  ma- 
guey, and  clustering  columns  of  the  organ  cac- 
tus, and  now  and  then  huts  of  thatch,  sped 
swiftly  by  if  near  or  moved  in  stately  procession 
if  far  away.  The  monster  skimming  the  roof 
of  a  continent  had  strength  for  fight  or  breath 
for  flight.  The  "old  man"  in  the  cab  stared  at 
the  glistening  rail  that  rushed  endlessly  under 
him,  and  noted  the  racing  landmarks  in  their 
quick  bursts  of  speed.  Far  behind,  the  city  still 
glowed  faintly,  and  not  far  ahead  an  old  mili- 
tary road  of  the  viceroys  crossed  the  track.— 
Ha,  here  it  was,  that  white  streak! 

The  "old  man"  gave  her  the  air,  and  his 
steed  choked  and  came  panting  to  a  standstill. 
A  huge,  slouching  figure,  with  hat  pulled  down 
over  his  eyes,  stood  in  the  glare  of  the  head- 

218 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  219 

light.  The  fellow  held  by  the  bridle  a  splendid 
mare.  The  inare  was  in  a  pitiful  state,  head 
drooping,  eyes  big  in  their  sockets,  and  coat 
all  lathered  with  froth.  She  had  been  desper- 
ately ridden. 

The  "old  man"  turned  to  his  wondering 
fireman.  "  Jim,  like  to  go  back  to  town  ?  It's 
twenty-odd  miles,  but  good  walkin',  and  five 
dollars  —  dollars,  not  bolivars  —  for  each  mile. 
And  keep  hid  till  your  next  trip  when  you  git 
there.  Here." 

The  boy  felt  a  roll  of  bills  in  his  hand.  He 
looked  again  at  the  man  and  horse.  "All 
right,  Sam,  I'm  on."  Just  another  fellow  Ameri- 
can who  needed  getting  out  of  the  country 
mighty  quick,  he  thought. 

"Leave  your  cap  and  jumper.  And  Jim," 
the  engineer  warned  him,  "  mind  you  walk.  It's 
shootin'  for  your'n  if  they  catch  you  with  that 
horse." 

:<  You  think  I'm  a  fool,  Sam?"  protested  the 
boy.  "Well,  adios  and  luck,"  and  without 
looking  back,  he  struck  out  on  the  military  road 
for  the  city. 


220  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"All  right,  Con,"  Sam  called  to  the  slouching 
figure. 

It  was  almost  affectionately  that  Slag  cut  the 
jaded  mare  with  his  whip,  and  as  she  staggered 
off  the  track,  he  patted  her  flank  and  told  her 
good-bye.  Then  he  climbed  into  the  cab  and 
put  on  the  fireman's  cap  and  jumper.  With 
his  first  shovelful  in  the  fire  box,  the  train  was 
again  under  way. 

"Worth    thirty-three    thousand    dollars    an' 
shovellin'  coal,"  muttered  Slag,  while  the  rails 
pounded  and  the  furnace  lighted  the  scowl  on 
his  face.     "  Worth  thirty-three  thousand  dollars 
in  my  inside  pocket — an'  --  shovellin'  coal!" 
It  grew  to  a  chant,  a   stoker's  song.     "Say" 
he  kicked  the   door  of  the  fire  box    shut.  - 
"Don  Pedro  git  on  all  right?" 

The  "old  man"  grinned  through  his  visage 
of  soot.  "I  was  thinkin',"  he  yelled  into  the 
roar,  "as  how  you'd  be  askin'  that  if  I  didn't 
up  and  tell  you.  .  .  .  Shucks,  Con,  you 
know  it  well  enough  yourself,  yet  I  got  to  own 
it  was  a  superb  neat  job." 

"Aw,"  Slag  yelled  back,  "'tain't  so  much." 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  221 

Sam  looked  him  fondly  in  the  eye.  Taking 
his  time,  he  put  an  arm  over  his  shoulder  and 
gently  bellowed  in  his  ear:  "Oh  rats!" 

Slag  glowered  fiercely,  which  made  the  "old 
man"  love  him  the  more.  It  was  no  use. 
Slag  ruefully  descended  the  battlemented  height 
of  Modesty  and,  on  the  level,  handed  the  "old 
man"  his  sword.  High  spirits  must  have 
capitulated  soon  in  any  case.  He  grasped 
Sam's  hand,  and  laughed.  Geography  changed 
while  he  laughed. 

'' You  hit  her  right,  Sam,"  he  roared.  "You 
sure  hit  her  right,  for  it  was  the  neatest  ever. 
Somewheres  way  back  in  the  cactus  they  come 
up  on  my  two  nags,  an'  I  reckon  they're  lookin' 
for  Don  Pedro  round  there  yet,  while  all  the 
time  he's  aboard  this  here  train.  —  You  said 
he  was  aboard,  Sam?" 

"I  was  meanin'  to,  Con." 

"Then  it's  all  right.     Everything's  all " 

"  What  the "  The  engineer  threw  over 

the  lever.  Signals  ahead  were  set  for  danger. 
It  was  a  village,  a  way  station,  a  telegraph  in- 
strument. The  coast-bound  never  stopped  there. 


BLAZE   DERRINGER 

The  train  stopped.  One  lone  native  dis- 
patcher with  his  lantern  was  visible.  Sam 
leaned  out  and  snatched  a  yellow  telegram  from 
the  man's  hand.  Each  letter  was  laboriously 
printed  in  ink.  Sam  was  too  mad  to  quite  say 
what  he  wanted  to  say.  He  waved  it  speech- 
lessly at  Slag. 

"Now  if  that  ain't  railroadin'  for  you," 
cackled  Slag.  "Stoppin'  a  train  for  a  suit 
case!  Who's  'B.  D.'?" 

"Should  be  *S.  D.,'  ' superintendente  de 
division.'  Wait  a  minute,  I  got  to  confer  with 
this  jackass.  .  .  .  Now,  you,  hombrey, 
burro,  que  quiere  por  este,  eh  ?  What  you  mean 
by  this,  putting  out  a  red  light  for  a  suit  case? 
Que  animal.  .  .  .  Oh,  Slag,  cross  your 
fingers  at  him,  tickle  him,  kill  him  kindly, 
something.  I'm  all  in." 

The  dispatcher  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He 
knew  nothing  of  suit  cases.  The  orders  came 
in  English,  which  he  did  not  understand.  For 
that  reason  he  thought  they  were  important, 
secret,  and  therefore  he  had  .  .  . 

"And  somebody  figgured  on  just  that.     Let 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  2<U 

me  see  those  orders."  The  speaker  was 
Jenkins.  "  Passel  of  idiots!  No  superinten- 
dent is  going  to  wire  a  flag  station  for  lost 
baggage.  *B.  D.'?  That  looks  a  heap  to  me 
like  it  spells  'Blaze  Derringer.'  And  if  he 
wants  a  suit  case  off  at  San  Casimiro,  why 
didn't  he  wire  us  at  San  Casimiro?  Read 
it  again: 

1  'Passenger  left  behind  at  Constanza.    Suit 
case  on  train  to  be  thrown  off  at  San  Casimiro, 

'B.  D.'" 

"Well,  what  does  he  mean  by  any  such  gibber* 
ish?" 

"He  don't  mean  all  he  says,  that's  one  thing 
certain. ' '  Suddenly  Jenkins  whipped  his  pencil 
through  a  number  of  words.  "And  he  means 
a  darn  sight  more'n  he  says,  that's  another 
thing.  Now  read  it! 

"'Passenger  on  train  to  be  thrown  off  at  San 
Casimiro.' 

:<Want  anything  simpler'n  that?  There's 
them  barracks  at  San  Casimiro." 

"We'll  stop  her  in  the  cut  starting  down  the 
hill,"  said  Sam.  "Con,  give  the  hombrey  a 


224  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

bolivar  out  o'  your  thirty-three  thousand.  — 
All  right,  Cap,  we're  off.  .  .  .  Why,  what 
in  thunder?" 

Jenkins  was  chuckling.  It  sounded  like  the 
hiccough,  and  hurt  him. 

"I  —  I  was  thinking,"  Jenkins  sputtered, 
"what  we  will  have  to  do  to  poor  old  Don  Peter 
now." 

At  San  Casimiro  the  train  was  met  by  soldiers 
and  searched  again.  The  provincial  young 
lieutenant  commanding  was  certain  that  this 
meant  his  promotion  to  Constanza,  where  the 
band  played  on  the  Plaza.  His  demeanour  was 
waggish,  patronizing,  superior.  Others  might 
frave  been  deceived,  but  not  he.  No,  not  he. 
He  permitted  himself  gaiety  while  routing  out 
the  passengers  in  the  sleeping  coach.  They 
should  behold.  He  found  no  fugitive  Don  Pedro 
among  them,  and  he  simulated  despair.  He 
patted  the  tip  of  his  nose  with  the  tip  of  his 
sabre  hilt.  Ha,  the  drawing  room,  the  upper 
berth!  He  winked  at  the  passengers,  and 
looked  at  Jenkins.  Jenkins  was  expected  to 
quail. 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  225 

"Ebony,"  said  Jenkins,  "show  'em  the 
drawing  room." 

Ebony  led  the  bayonet  squad  to  the  drawing 
room.  It  was  unoccupied.  He  took  down 
the  upper  berth.  It  was  empty,  even  of  bed- 
ding. 

The  lieutenant  was  not  so  certain  of  promotion 
to  Constanza. 

"But  the  mattress,  Sefior  Conductor,  the 
blankets,  they  are  vanished.  Ah,  to  make  room, 
eh?  Where-  -" 

"Ebony,  you  black  rascal,"  said  Jenkins, 
"why  don't  you  tell  the  General  ?  I  believe  I'm 
tired  of  questions." 

The  lieutenant  turned  on  the  negro.  He 
tapped  fingers  to  palm  in  the  gesture  of  demand- 
ing money.  "  Where  is  the  mattress  ?  Where 
are  the  blankets?  Why  are  they  not  here?" 

"  Well,  —  I  mean,  bi-bien,  seenyer  —  if  you 
mus'  know,  sabe,  it  was  —  was  bedbugs 
.  .  .  chinches,  sabe?"  Ebony  believed  that 
to  speak  Spanish  was  to  talk  English  like  a 
Chinaman.  "  Jus'  chinches,  muchos.  No  bueno 
for  nawthin'." 


226  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

The  mistaken  identity  of  Don  Pedro  with 
chinches  fell  hard  on  the  lieutenant  command- 
ing. 

Once  more  under  way  coastward,  the  new 
fireman  industriously  began  to  heave  coal.  He 
climbed  into  the  tender  to  heave.  He  heaved 
right  and  left,  strewing  the  right  of  way.  The 
engineer  climbed  up  and  helped  him.  They 
uncovered  a  long,  swaddled,  padded  bundle. 

"All  right,  Don  Pedro,"  they  said  to  the  last 
of  a  line  of  emperors  as  together  they  carried 
the  bundle  into  the  cab.  "  We'll  stop  again  in 
the  woods  beyond,  and  you  can  go  on  back  to 
bed."  They  unwrapped  a  towel  from  his 
mouth. 

"As  you  wish,  gentlemen,"  said  Don  Pedro. 
The  hidalgo  heart  was  broken.  Don  Pedro  was 
cured  of  conspiracy  and  revolution.  The  days 
of  the  high  Castilian  manner  were  gone. 
Another,  a  garish  day,  was  here  —  distinctively 
an  American  day.  A  disfigured  cheek,  a 
tandem,  a  bundle  shut  up  in  a  berth,  a 
mummy  under  lumps  of  coal.  .  .  .  And  his 
glorious  Bess  was  of  this  other  day.  It  was  she 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  227 

who  had  set  all  this  on  foot  in  her  poor  father's 
behalf.  Nevertheless,  the  emperor-who-would- 
have-been  smiled  faintly  as  he  thought  of  his 
glorious  Bess. 

"As  you  wish,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  smiling 
even  on  them  a  little. 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 

BLAZE  DERRINGER  of  Texas,  his  own 
thoughts  intent  on  the  glorious  Bess, 
would  not  wait  until  morning  to  act 
on  them.  While  night  endured  and  the  official 
mind  was  yet  in  chaos  over  Don  Pedro's  escape, 
the  young  American  might  evade  the  noose  of 
suspicion  certain  to  be  cast  over  him.  Mingling 
with  the  crowd,  he  had  seen  Morder  ransack 
the  coast-bound,  had  witnessed  the  affair  of  the 
mattress  and  blankets,  and  later  had  overheard 
admiring  whispers  about  Morder's  cleverness  in 
ordering  the  train  to  be  searched  again  at  San 
Casimiro.  Whereupon  Derringer  had  con- 
cocted that  message  of  his  own  which  intercepted 
the  train  at  a  way  station. 

He  could  do  these  things,  because  he  was  not 
supposedly  connected  as  yet  with  the  evening's 
sensational  event.  By  morning,  though,  the 
universe  would  be  a  trap.  Therefore  he  must 

228 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  229 

keep  out  of  the  way  of  the  universe.  He  had 
neither  Slag  nor  Jenkins  to  help  him.  Those 
two  musketeers  of  the  trio  were  rounding  off 
the  adventure  they  had  bargained  for.  This 
other  adventure  was  a  new  one,  and  for  Der- 
ringer alone.  He  never  thought  of  it  as  adven- 
ture, but  more  as  though  some  one  near  and 
dear  to  him  were  dangerously  ill.  Yet  what 
could  he  do?  He  did  not  know.  He  only 
knew  that  if  they  caught  him,  he  could  do  noth- 
ing. Bess  was  oblivious  of  her  peril.  At  least 
she  must  be  warned  that  Morder  now  believed 
her  to  be  the  custodian  of  her  father's  wealth. 
It  was  a  relief  for  Derringer  to  project  his 
faculties  on  something  definite. 

Keeping  in  the  shadows  of  freight  cars,  he 
crossed  the  deserted  switchyards  to  the  adobe 
wall  where  he  and  Don  Pedro  had  left  the 
famous  tandem.  He  mounted,  and  started  off 
on  the  same  lonely  trails  by  which  they  had 
come,  except  that  the  home  of  the  Augustias 
and  not  the  Hospital  was  now  his  goal.  As  he 
approached  from  the  rear  and  drew  within 
easy  walking  distance,  he  began  to  feel  the  need 


230  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

of  a  well.  He  wanted  to  drop  the  tandem  in  it. 
That  assemblage  of  junk  was  become  as  oner- 
ous as  a  stolen  mutton;  more  so,  since  the 
coyotes  of  the  cactus  plain  would  not  touch  it. 

"Case  of  feeding  her  to  the  monkey  wrench," 
he  decided,  and  forthwith  began  the  distribution, 
variously  consigning  a  backbone,  a  handle  bar, 
a  wheel,  a  pedal,  and  the  rest  to  the  thorny 
jungle  along  the  way. 

On  foot  he  stole  toward  the  Augustias  home, 
to  sink  abruptly  behind  a  maguey.  There 
was  a  patrol  making  his  round  outside  the 
walled  gardens.  It  was  the  logically  idiotic 
thing  for  them  to  do,  thought  Derringer.  If 
Don  Pedro  had  gained  refuge  within,  the 
Republic  of  Sylvanlitlan  would  keep  him  in  at 
her  pleasure.  Or,  should  he  try  to  get  in,  the 
Republic  would  catch  him  niftily.  As  though 
any  sane  fugitive  could  be  so  arrant  an  imbecile! 

But  —  and  now  Derringer  theorized  with 
livelier  concern  —  if  this  close  guard  were 
Morder's  own  private  game?  If  Morder  were 
holding  the  Senorita  prisoner  until  he  might 
call  to  demand  her  father's  fortune?  And 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  231 

in  that  event,  what  manner  of  entreaty  would 
the  resolute  villain  elect  ? 

"I'll  have  to  be  there  to  see  for  myself," 
thought  Derringer. 

Getting  there,  however,  was  an  item. 

One  possible  opening  into  the  gardens  was 
unknown  to  the  patrol;  and,  by  a  quaint  irony, 
this  flaw  in  the  cordon  around  the  treasure  was 
once  the  hiding  place  of  what  had  been  thought 
the  treasure.  Derringer  waited  until  the  sentry 
passed  on ;  and  when  the  sentry  passed  again, 
Derringer  lay  in  the  pit  alongside  the  wall  where 
a  few  nights  before  they  had  dug  out  the  chest 
of  Confederate  money. 

Between  the  coming  and  going  of  the  guard, 
he  burrowed  under  the  wall  with  his  pocket 
knife  and  shovelled  with  his  fingers,  and  this  was 
a  long  job.  When  at  last  his  red  head,  heavy 
with  soil  as  the  fur  of  a  mole,  emerged  from 
the  earth  within  the  garden,  the  steel  blue  of  the 
moonlit  wilderness  outside  was  already  changing 
to  gray.  He  filled  up  his  tunnel  behind  him, 
scattering  leaves  over  the  fresh  dirt,  and  with 
a  grimace  at  his  clothes,  he  wished  for  a  pump 


232  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

and  a  towel  before  presenting  himself  to  the 
chatelaine  in  her  beleaguered  castle.  He  could 
cover  his  hands  at  least,  since  there  were  kid 
gloves  in  his  golf  jacket,  and  a  moment  later  he 
was  rapping  on  the  door  of  the  loggia. 

Some  one  opened  to  him  stealthily,  and  a 
frightened  face  peered  out.  It  was  that  invalu- 
able messenger  of  the  Seiiorita's,  her  woman 
who  did  the  marketing.  With  her  first  recogni- 
tion of  the  smeared  and  earthy  visitor,  she 
hastened  him  inside,  and  directly  the  young  man 
found  himself  a  second  time  in  that  large 
room  where  the  princess  of  Sylvanlitlan  read 
precise  Bostonian  books  or  softly  sang  trou- 
badour ballads  to  the  accompaniment  of  her 
own  guitar.  That  other  time  the  spacious 
music  room  was  the  seat  of  judgment,  where 
he  and  De  Marzi  had  been  led  by  the  plump 
Dona. 

The  Dona  was  asleep  now,  so  the  woman 
informed  Derringer,  but  the  Senorita,  yes, 
the  Senorita  was  awake,  and  awake  the  poor 
child  had  been  all  through  the  night,  and  all 
night  long  she  had  been  sending  the  servants 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  233 

forth  to  hear  what  latest  news  of  her  father 
might  be  passing  over  the  town. 

"And  I  will  take  her  your  card,  sefior,  as 
you  desire,"  said  the  woman,  when  a  door 
opened  and  there  stood  the  dainty  little  Senorita 
herself. 

A  catch  of  the  breath,  almost  a  cry,  escaped 
Derringer.  The  surprise  was  of  the  heart, 
not  the  head,  and  his  heart  had  leaped.  She 
was  wholly  of  old  Castile  this  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, when  the  blood  races  to  tint  and  warm  the 
flesh.  Her  collar  lay  open  and  turned  under, 
and  on  seeing  him  she  drew  a  filmy  rebosa  of 
shimmering  lavender  across  her  bared  neck  and 
flung  the  end  over  her  shoulder.  A  high  comb 
crowned  the  brown  hair  like  a  coronet,  and  a 
silken  skirt  that  touched  the  ankles  revealed 
her  little  shoes  with  their  red  heels.  It  all 
made  him  feel  apologetic,  dirt-streaked,  and 
disreputable;  and,  truth  to  tell,  the  distress  of 
her  night's  vigil  vanished  from  her  eyes  and 
gave  way  to  mischief  as  she  took  note  of  him. 

"Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  offering  her  hand  in 
welcome,  *"but  that  is  not  a  good  disguise!" 


234  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

He  grinned  feebly.  "I  am  not  in  disguise, 
Miss  Bess.  I've  been  making  mud  pies.  Why  ?" 

"Because,"  she  said,  the  strain  of  anxiety 
settling  again  on  her  brow,  "because  they  are 
arresting  every  American  in  Constanza.  It 
seems  that  two  unknown  Americans  overpow- 
ered Colonel  Morder  at  the  Hospital  last  night. 
—  My  faith,"  she  cried,  frankly  letting  him  see 
the  grateful  light  in  her  eyes,  "but  I  think  that 
you  must  have  had  a  wonderful  time  last 
night!" 

"Indeed,  yes,"  he  exclaimed,  never  under- 
standing that  the  maiden  was  bestowing  laurel 
on  him,  "for  it  was  sure  great." 

She  regarded  him  for  a  moment  under  crink- 
ling brows.  "I  shall  have  to  find  you  a  hiding 
place,"  she  announced  with  matronly  decision. 

He  bridled  at  that.  He  had  not  come  to 
hide.  "If,"  he  began,  "I  might  be  led  to  a 
wash  basin " 

"Yes,"  she  agreed  ruthlessly,  "to  wash  your 
face.  And  by  that  time  I  shall  have  thought  of 
a  place  somewhere  to " 

"Better  think  of  one  for  yourself,  Miss  Bess, 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  235 

because  Morder  will  be  looking  for  you,  not  me. 
He  found  out  last  night  that  you  —  Listen, 
isn't  that  the  knocker  on  the  front  door  ?  Then 
it's  Morder  now!  —  Miss  Bess,  he  has  come  for 
your  father's  money.  What  do  you  wish  me 
to  do?" 

"To — to —  Here,  behind  these  curtains." 
It  hurt,  but  he  obeyed.  If  he  stayed  to  face  the 
intruder,  that  would  distract  her,  and  not  help 
in  the  least,  and  the  girl  needed  her  wits.  Her 
evident  small  opinion  of  his  usefulness  gave 
him  a  twinge.  But  small  opinions  had  not 
disturbed  him  before,  and  people  usually  got  over 
them.  She  ran  to  the  heavy  velvet  curtains,  and 
held  them  parted  for  him,  and  he  meekly 
stepped  behind.  Her  eyes  raised  to  his  to 
thank  l&m,  and  then  she  noticed  that  the  pupils 
under  Jthe  freckled  eyelids  were  growing  bigger, 
and  she  was  vaguely  disconcerted. 

For  his  part  he  saw  her  brow  clear  when  she 
perceived  that  he  was  not  going  to  be  stubborn. 
Her  cheeks  were  bloodless  and  the  small  hand 
laid  on  the  curtain  was  clenched  tightly,  yet 
when  a  servant  burst  into  the  room  crying  that 


236  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

all  out-doors  was  filled  with  soldiers  and  that 
Colonel  Morder  was  there,  she  drew  a  long 
breath,  and  the  trembling  through  her  slender 
body  ceased,  and  he  heard  her  quietly  bid  the 
servant  to  ask  the  Colonel  Morder  to  enter. 

Morder  was  in  full  dragoon  uniform,  and  a 
splendid  personage  he  looked.  His  plumed 
helmet  in  the  curve  of  his  arm,  a  hand  on  his  sabre 
hilt,  he  bent  from  the  waist.  His  deep  voice  was 
softened  to  deprecating  apology.  On  no  account 
could  he  permit  that  she  be  disquieted,  and  she 
beheld  him  there  ready  to  shield  her  with  his 
own  breast  and  buckler  if  need  be. 

"Gee  whiz,"  muttered  Derringer  behind  his 
curtains,  "that's  the  way  I  should  have 
talked!" 

The  harsh  though  eminently  shrewd  Presi- 
dente,  it  seemed,  had  ordered  the  house  searched. 
Two  jaded  horses  ridden  by  her  father  and  one 
of  his  American  rescuers  had  been  found, 
abandoned,  out  on  the  plateau.  The  entire 
region  had  been  scoured.  The  city  had  been 
scoured.  Therefore  the  Presidente  was  of  the 
opinion  that  Don  Pedro  and  the  American 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  237 

must  have  stolen  back  to  Don  Pedro's  own  house. 
The  American  was  no  doubt  a  vicious  fellow 
named  Slag,  who  had  bought  the  two  horses  at 
the  bullring.  Slag  had  vanished,  and  with  him 
his  associate,  an  idle  young  adventurer  whom 
Morder  himself  happened  to  know  by  repu- 
tation in  Texas  for  a  worthless  and  shoddy 
gambler. 

"One  moment,"  said  the  Senorita,  and  Der- 
ringer thrilled  at  something  in  her  voice.  "First 
you  tell  me,  Colonel  Morder,  that  this  —  that 
these  two  men  —  rescued  my  father,  and  then 
you  slander  them.  You  cannot  but  perceive, 
senor,  that  on  one  score  or  the  other  you  must 
be " 

"Lying,  you  would  say,"  he  assisted  her 
affably.  "Oh,  well,  Senorita,  it  cannot  greatly 
matter,  since  they  are  to  be  executed " 

;'When  found,"  she  suggested. 

He  bowed,  graciously  conceding  the  point. 

"That  being  the  case,  Senorita,  you  must  not 
be  too  hard  on  the  Presidente  for  wishing  to 
search  the  house." 

"The   more   thanks   to   you,   then,    Colonel 


238  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

Morder,  since  you  have  come  to  prevent  it," 
and  she  inclined  her  head,  as  though  that  were 
all  and  he  would  be  taking  his  departure. 

An  amused  smile  flashed  under  his  black 
moustache.  "Ah,  dear  lady,  you  should  take 
my  meaning  better.  I  can  prevent  it  until  you 
are  prepared,  which  comes  to  the  same  thing. 
For  example,  we  search  here  on  the  ground  floor 
first.  We  find  no  one,  neither  your  father  nor 
even  an  American.  Then  we  take  the  floor 
above,  going  up  by  the  front  stairway.  That 
leaves  all  other  stairways  clear  for  any  one  above 
who  might  wish  at  that  moment  to  descend.  Or," 
he  went  on  without  change  in  tone,  "as  your 
father  is  already  on  this  floor  —  oh,  do  not 
be  alarmed,  Seiiorita;  you  only  caught  at  your 
breath  a  little  —  so  we  will  begin  on  the  floor 
above." 

"Very  well,  Colonel  Morder,"  she  said, 
steadily  meeting  his  gaze,  "as  you  have  now 
learned  from  your  inferences  what  you  came  to 
learn,  why  are  you  waiting?  Call  in  your 
soldiers,  and  have  an  end!" 

He  humoured  her  brave  attempt  at  indiffer- 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  239 

ence.  "Alas,  Senorita,"  he  pleaded  unctuously, 
"kindly  endeavour  to  understand.  According 
as  I  order  the  search,  we  will  find  your  father 
within  the  hour,  or  we  will  not  find  him.  But 
I  come  first  alone,  to  you,  lest  I  blunder  and  we 
do  find  your  father. — Ah,  Senorita,"  he  ex- 
claimed earnestly,  laying  his  helmet  on  the 
table  and  coming  toward  her,  "as  I  look  at  you, 
knowing  that  you  must  see  yourself  at  times  in 
your  mirror,  I  wonder  that  you  cannot  under- 
stand. But  understand  now,  little  temptress, 
understand  now,  my  alluring  princess  of  Sylvan- 
litlan,  that  I  have  the  honour  to  want  —  your- 
self!" 

She  stared  at  him,  dazed.  Then,  from  the 
curtains  at  her  back,  she  heard  a  low,  angry 
snort.  Abruptly  the  situation  changed  for  her. 
The  struggle  was  plain  on  her  face;  the  blood 
mantling  her  cheeks,  the  spasm-like  curving  of 
the  red  lips,  the  dimpling  of  the  mouth  —  and 
she  laughed  outright. 

Morder  stopped,  rigid,  utterly  at  a  loss.  His 
face  worked  darkly.  His  suave  control  was 
gone.  Merely  the  gross  woman-beater  was  left. 


240  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"Witch,  siren,  mocker,"  he  cried,  ferocity 
barbing  the  once  purring  tones.  "It  is  to 
laugh,  then?  It  is  to  laugh!" 

She  nodded  her  head  yes  and  shook  her  head 
no,  uncertain  in  the  seizure  of  mirth  which  was 
the  answer. 

He  glowered,  and  closed  his  fist,  and  his  look 
was  as  magnificently  black  as  a  thunder-cloud. 
"Eh,  you  are  forgetting  my  dragoons  outside. 
You  are  forgetting  the  search."  That  was  his 
present  way  to  strike  a  woman.  "I  go  to  call 
them."  He  started  for  the  door. 

"No,"   she  cried.     "No,   no!" 

She  ran  to  stop  him,  and  had  all  but  overtaken 
him,  when  he  turned  exultantly.  "It  is  a  fair 
bargain,  then!"  and  his  arms  reached  for  her. 

She  half  screamed,  darting  backward. 

"Lo,  from  behind  the  arras.  .  .  ."  And 
Derringer,  self-conscious  of  his  cue  and  blush- 
ing, announced  himself.  At  a  step  he  came 
between  the  retreating  girl  and  the  man,  and 
apologetically  levelled  a  six-shooter  at  the  man's 
head. 

Morder's  chagrin  passed  with  his  amazement. 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  241 

He  tucked  his  thumbs  in  his  belt,  careful, 
however,  to  make  no  motion  toward  his 
pistol,  and  meditatively  regarded  the  dirt- 
encased  and  rumpled  young  American. 

"You  ought  to  be  frightened,"  said  Derringer. 
"It's  loaded." 

"Six  aces,  eh?"  suggested  Morder.  " Ai, 
dear  sir,  the  pleasure  of  meeting  you  again! 
The  exquisite  pleasure  of  a  second  little  game!" 
He  nodded  his  head  affably  toward  the  levelled 
six-shooter. 

"You  are  still  owing  a  wee  bit  on  the  last 
one,"  Derringer  reminded  him. 

The  Colonel's  left  epaulette  raised  in  a 
slightly  wearied  shrug.  "Oh,  that,  yes.  We 
will  permit  that  to  go  on  the  present  game.  — 
Bien,  hombre,  I  am  waiting.  It  is  to  you  the 
next  move." 

The  identical  thought  was  troubling  Der- 
ringer already.  "I  say,  Miss  Bess."  He 
turned  to  her  in  his  perplexity.  "The  Colonel's 
right,  you  know.  It's  a  dead-lock." 

She  was  standing  beside  him,  panting  a 
little,  her  cheeks  still  flushed  at  thought  of  the 


BLAZE   DERRINGER 

proffered  indignity.  She  could  make  little  of 
what  they  were  saying,  yet  was  thrillingly 
aware  that  a  duel  of  cold  nerve,  a  gamblers' 
duel,  was  on  between  these  two  pleasantly 
worded  men  of  the  world.  The  air  of  the 
room  was  of  that  world  outside,  and  seemed 
electric,  so  that  the  cloistered  girl  tingled  to 
her  finger-tips,  marvelling  at  the  other  sex. 

"A  dead-lock?"  she  murmured.  "I  do  not 
understand." 

"  It's  this  way,"  Derringer  explained.  "  Mor- 
der  here  would  sacredly  promise  anything 
rather  than  have  his  head  blown  off.  He 
would  promise  to  annoy  you  no  more,  to  call 
off  his  soldiers,  to  let  me  escape  —  anything. 
But,  the  only  trouble  is,  he  wouldn't  keep  his 
promise." 

**Senor!"  cried  Morder,  stern  and  pompous. 
"Oblige  me,  how  do  you  know  that?" 

"A  man,"  Derringer  retorted  drily,  "who 
does  not  pay  his  poker  debts !  —  On  the  other 
hand,  Miss  Bess,  I  might  blow  off  his  head 
anyhow.  But  where's  the  good  ?  The  soldiers 
would  be  in  here  the  minute  after,  and  keep 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  243 

me  from  taking  you  to  your  father,  as  I  mean  to. 
For  the  life  of  me,  I  —  I  don't  know  what  to 
do.  Try  your  hand  at  it,  Miss  Bess;  think  of 
something." 

Together,  like  two  friendless  orphans,  they 
confronted  their  enemy,  and  the  large  uniformed 
personage,  their  enemy,  smiled  on  them,  toler- 
antly sympathizing  with  them  in  their  dilemma. 

"Oh,  I  know!"  Involuntarily  the  girl  laid 
a  hand  on  Derringer's  arm.  "But  first,  would 
you  —  would  you  trust  me  ?" 

"Don't  be  absurd,  Miss  Bess." 

"I  mean —  very  much?" 

He  snorted  impatiently. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said;  "then  give  me  that 
pistol." 

"But  suppose  he  insults  you  again?" 

"I  would  have  the  pistol,  wouldn't  I?" 

"Yes.     And  then  what,  Miss  Bess?" 

"You  are  to  go  with  him  to  the  peniten- 
tiary—  Oh,  I  told  you  it  was  to  trust  me 
very  much.  And  you  heard  him  say,  too,  that 
you  were  to  be  shot " 

"Here  is  the  pistol,  Miss  Bess." 


244  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

She  gave  him  her  hand,  and  her  eyes  filled 
as  she  looked  at  him.  Morder  watched  him 
closely,  to  see  if  he  wavered. 

"  Dios  mio!  Senorita,"  he  observed  judicially, 
"I  was  mistaken.  *  Shoddy*  is  not  the  word." 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 

THE    search   of   the   Augustias   mansion 
was  achieved,  and  nothing  eventful  hap- 
pened.    Derringer  of   Texas  was  taken 
to   prison.      The   troopers   and   the  gold-laced 
expanse  of  their  Colonel  were  gone.   Whereupon 
a  thing  portentous  of  events  did  happen.     The 
princess  of  Sylvanlitlan  called  for  her  carriage. 

"There,  there,  my  aunt,"  she  said  to  a  pal- 
pitating Dona  Pepita,  "they  are  not  going  to 
shoot  him  exactly  right  away.  Yes,  yes,  I 
know  he  is  a  nice  boy  and  it's  a  pity,  if  you  say 
so,  but  Colonel  Morder  was  not  impressed  with 
that  as  an  argument,  was  he?  We  must  find 
a  stronger  one,  so  hurry  with  your  hat  —  no, 
no,  not  that,  the  dark  tan  —  and  come  with 
me.  Your  nice  boy  is  occupying  Colonel 
Morder's  attention  and  risking  his  life  to  give 
me  this  chance,  so — Auntie,  would  you  wear 
a  gray  veil?" 

245 


246  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

There  was  a  flagstaff  on  the  modest  though 
respectable  dwelling  where  the  Senorita's  car- 
riage stopped  first,  and  above  the  brass  knocker 
with  which  her  coachman  bombarded  the  door 
there  was  a  scutcheon  emblazoned  with  an  ugly- 
looking  customer  in  the  way  of  being  an  Ameri- 
can eagle. 

The  American  Minister,  whose  abode  it  was, 
responded  in  person  when  the  Senorita's  card 
was  handed  him,  and  himself  assisted  the  two 
ladies  to  alight.  He  had  received  the  Presidente 
of  Sylvanlitlan  in  the  little  flag-draped  parlour 
to  which  he  led  them,  yet  on  that  occasion  he 
hurried  his  good  wife  with  no  more  unction 
to  do  the  honours  than  on  this  occasion.  The 
daughter  of  a  line  of  emperors!  It  seemed  to 
the  American  Minister,  and  his  wife,  that  they 
were  accredited  to  a  royal  court  already,  and 
they  quaffed  naively  of  the  foretaste  of  promo- 
tion. Only  on  second  thought  did  the  diplomat 
reflect  that  a  visit  from  the  Senorita  on  the 
morning  after  her  father's  escape  might  render 
him  a  persona  non  grata,  that  is,  a  person  out 
of  a  job;  and  through  quite  a  series  of  second 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  247 

thoughts  the  American  Minister  was  a  troubled 
man.  He  was  troubled  no  less,  and  a  little 
bored  as  well,  when  he  learned  the  motive  of 
the  Senorita's  call. 

"Bless  us,"  he  said,  genially  conscious  of 
his  cleverness,  "  if  all  these  wandering  scalawags 
who  are  my  fellow  citizens  would  but  confine 
their  need  of  police  regulation  to  the  home 
market!" 

"Yet  surely,"  protested  the  Senorita,  "you 
will  demand  to  know  what  evidence  there  is 
against  him  ?  And  you  will  do  this,  won't  you, 
before  they  shoot  him,  rather  than  afterward?" 

"Oh  yes  —  h'm,  yes,  of  course,  in  view  of 
the  fact  that  they  have  not  quite  shot  him  as 
yet." 

"Now  suppose,"  continued  she,  "that  there 
should  happen  to  be  no  evidence?" 

"No  evidence?"  exclaimed  the  diplomat. 
"And  you  here,  ma'am,  interceding  for  him!" 

"I  went  so  far  as  to  assume,"  said  the  girl, 
artfully  turning  to  the  Minister's  wife  for  sup- 
port, "that  you  would  understand  how  I  could 
wish  no  one  executed  on  my  father's  account." 


248  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"Why,  my  dear,  of  course  not!"  eagerly 
cried  the  Minister's  wife;  and  the  Dona  chimed 
in  too,  seizing  her  first  chance  to  proclaim  that 
it  was  a  pity  and  he  was  such  a  nice  young 
rascal,  for  since  the  night  she  had  caught  him 
fighting  on  her  back  porch  she  could  figure  to 
herself  no  lad  more  simpdtico  than  this  same 
Meestah  Derrin-geaire. 

The  diplomat's  finger-tips  were  complacently 
pressed  together,  but  at  the  name  they  parted 
and  went  to  alert  attention  on  the  arms  of  his 
chair. 

"  What  —  what  was  that  name,  if  you  please  ?" 

"Derringer,  Edward  Derringer,"  said  the 
Senorita. 

The  Minister  darted  a  look  at  his  wife,  and 
an  agitated  glance  passed  between  them.  Then, 
awake,  alive,  and  quite  the  American  Minister, 
he  took  up  the  grave  affair  involving  a  fellow 
countryman's  life. 

"Naturally,  Senorita,"  he  began  weightily, 
"the  procedure  in  a  case  of  this  kind  is  all 
indicated,  even  to  invoking  the  armed  —  h'm, 
well,  the  supreme  recourse.  However,  as  you 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  249 

have  so  mercifully  interested  yourself  —  uh, 
perhaps  there  is  something  you  would  suggest  ?" 

"If,"  she  replied,  "you  will  merely  let  the 
Presidente  know  that  you  wish  to  review  the 
evidence  against  Mr.  Derringer." 

"Naturally,  naturally,  that  is  always  the 
first  step,  you  know." 

"It  will  be  quite  enough,  sir,  and  thank  you." 

"Enough?     Oh,  but " 

"I  shall  do  the  rest  myself,"  she  explained 
demurely.  Then,  seeing  his  incredulous  smile: 
"Oh,  I  know,"  she  laughed,  "but  a  girl's  two 
feet  can  move  faster  than  your  huge  United 
States  of  the  North,  and  Mr.  Derringer  may 
not  be  able  to  wait." 

"Bless  us,"  ejaculated  the  Minister,  "what 
delightful  humbug!" 

"Thank  you  for  the  flower,  sir,  and  have  I 
your  promise  to  let  the  Presidente  hear  from 
you  within  an  hour?" 

"You  may  certainly  command  my  obedience, 
Senorita."  But  she  accepted  this  as  his  promise 
only  after  she  had  won  a  nod  from  his  wife  by 
the  subtle  flattery  of  an  appealing  glance. 


250  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

Alone  once  more  in  their  little  parlour,  the 
American  Minister  and  madame  his  wife  let 
their  thoughts  at  the  name  of  Derringer  fly  to 
words. 

"  Oh,  Robert  dear,"  cried  the  lady,  running  to 
him,  "  it  is  the  conspicuous  international  affair  at 
last !  It  is  the'  limelight  lightning'  you  have  been 
wishing  would  strike  you  for  so  many  years!  — 
Oh  my,  there  you  go,  getting  posey  and  non- 
committal again!  With  your  own  wife,  too! 
You  should  be  deeper  than  that,  my  dear.  —  And 
don't  you  just  wish  that  this  will  get  into  the 
newspapers  up  home  ?  All  the  other  things  so  far 
simply  —  oh,  you  know  —  simply  fizzled.  And 
you've  always  been  so  good  to  the  correspondents, 
too,  signing  their  passports  for  a  dollar  and  — 

They  were  both  young  on  the  diplomatic 
ladder,  only  a  little  over  fifty,  and  therefore  still 
hopeful,  for,  of  course,  the  American  people 
could  never  again  be  so  absurd  as  to  let  in  a 
Democratic  President,  and  what  with  their 
"influence"  constantly  being  jogged  to  step 
over  and  remind  the  White  House,  and  their 
Congressman  back  home  in  Iowa,  and  the 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  251 

second  cousin  who  was  Third  Assistant  Secre- 
tary  

"Little  woman,"  the  American  Minister  inter- 
rupted her  with  benign  patience,  "you  so  well 
speak  out  what  I  labour  to  conceal  that  to 
listen  to  you  is  a  recess,  a  relaxation,  a  holiday. 
And  now,  dear,  as  you  have  finished,  I  can  go 
back  to  taciturnity,  refreshed  and  with  a  stouter 
heart,  having  perceived  its  wisdom  anew." 

"Oh,  pshaw,"  she  pouted,  "you  have  said 
all  that  before,  and  I  don't  understand  it  any 
better  than  I  did  at  first.  —  Now  where  is  that 
cablegram  ?  Oh,  how  little  did  we  think  that  it 
would  prove  so  important!" 

Together  they  read  the  cablegram,  and  to- 
gether they  conjured  up  a  vista  of  newspaper 
headlines,  even  extra  editions,  perhaps,  as  a 
breathless  American  public  day  by  day  awaited 
or  acclaimed  their  Minister's  next  adroit  move; 
and  in  their  dream  flashed  terse  code  messages 
to  the  Secretary  of  State,  and  the  Secretary's 
more  terse  "Use  own  judgment"  flashing  back, 
and  then  the  battleships  and  conferences  with 
the  admiral,  and  the  strain  on  the  Minister 


252  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

making  him  haggard,  and  finally  the  sequel. 
The  sequel  would  surely  be  the  nomination  to 
Brazil,  or  at  least  as  good. 

"In  his  own  new  yacht,"  murmured  the  lady. 
"Why,  but  Robert,  he  must  have  no  end  of 
influence!" 

The  American  Minister  winced.  Again  his 
own  thought  to  a  dot. 

The  cablegram  received  just  that  morning 
did  seem  providential.  Yet  it  was  only  from 
an  old  Gulf  cattleman  up  in  Texas  somewhere, 
who  was  wandering  around  the  Caribbean 
like  a  blooded  prince,  in  search  of  his  boy  who 
was  also  wandering,  the  Lord  only  knew  where 
or  like  what. 

It  had  transpired  in  this  manner:  The  elder 
Derringer,  coming  to  Galveston  with  a  train- 
load  of  prime  export  stuff,  had  crossed  his  boy's 
trail  at  the  hotel  there.  He  contrived  to  learn 
that  the  boy  had  struck  out  again  on  the  Levia- 
than. The  ship  was  bound  for  Trinidad  and 
divers  way  ports,  though  where  the  boy  was 
bound  did  not  appear.  He  had  taken  his  passage 
after  going  on  board.  That  was  like  Eddie, 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  253 

thought  the  elder  Derringer,  and  more  than 
likely  Eddie  did  not  know  himself  where  he 
was  going.  But  Eddie's  father  wired  home  for 
his  yacht,  and  set  forth  hi  her  to  ask  the  captain 
of  the  Leviathan  where  Eddie  might  be.  And 
that  was  like  Eddies  fathers. 

The  elder  Derringer  had  missed  the  Leviathan 
at  Trinidad,  and  Eddie  not  being  hi  Trinidad, 
he  had  cabled  enquiry  of  the  American  Minister 
in  each  country  at  which  the  Leviathan  touched. 

"But  don't  you  tell  him  I'm  looking  for  him," 
he  cautioned  at  heavy  cost  in  tolls.  "I  want 
to  surprise  him  with  this  new  yacht." 

What  was  more  likely,  the  elder  Derringer 
wished  to  see  for  himself  what  kind  of  a  boy 
he  had  by  now.  That  alone  was  worth  a  cruise. 
God,  sir,  it  was  the  ultimate  cruise  of  life,  the 
supreme  treasure  hunt!  Old  man  Derringer 
did  know  how  to  invest  in  big  things.  For 
almost  two  years  he  had  wondered  how  the 
boy  was  making  out  on  that  five-thousand- 
dollar  wager.  That  was  the  dial  to  manhood, 
or  to  perdition,  which  he  had  placed  in  the  young 
man's  hands.  A  rollicking  sailor  might  box 


254  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

the  compass,  and  then  steer  straight  after  all. 
What  was  his  boy  doing?  Well,  it  was  worth 
a  cruise. 

'Yes,  little  woman,"  said  the  American 
Minister,  "he  ought  to  bring  one  more  Senator 
to  us,  I  think." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  first,  Robert?" 

"Oh,  cable  to  the  State  Department,  I 
suppose." 

"You  are?  And  have  them  ask  you  what 
you  have  done!  No,  my  dear,  you  are  going 
this  minute  to  see  the  Presidente  of  Sylvanlitlan." 

Already  she  was  plying  a  velvet  pad  around 
his  silk  tile  to  bring  out  the  eight  perpendicular 
reflections  required  of  the  protocol. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY 

A  PERSON  of  consequence  in  Sylvanlitlan 
was  the  Presidente,  called  also  the 
Runt  of  Sylvanlitlan.  But  even  he, 
with  his  beard  as  black  as  a  pirate's,  and  on 
a  time  a  brigand  cattle  herder  in  the  fast- 
nesses of  the  Andes,  was  not  insusceptible  to 
receiving  the  Senorita  de  Las  Augustias.  The 
little  squat  tyrant  was  closeted,  indeed,  with 
the  American  Minister  when  her  card  and  the 
Dona  Pepita's  were  handed  him  by  a  saddle- 
hued  and  sandal-shod  orderly.  The  effect 
was  a  hasty  repeating  of  assurances  for  the 
Sister  Republic  of  the  North,  and  a  rising 
from  his  chair,  and  a  bow  and  extending  of 
the  hand,  and  a  feeling  expression  of  regret 
that  his  esteemed  caller  could  bide  no  longer; 
so  that  the  American  Minister  was  con- 
strained to  depart,  though  he  wanted  to 
say  over  again,  with  more  polished  and  im- 

255 


256  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

pressive  diction,  what  he  had  said  several  times 
already. 

The  ladies  of  Sylvanlitlan's  first  family  were 
waiting  in  the  gilded  and  mirrored  audience 
chamber.  They  were  kept  waiting  only  so 
long  as  it  takes  to  shake  the  hand  of  an  American 
Minister.  A  cattle  herder  who  may  do  one  and 
the  other  of  these  two  things  at  the  same  time 
has  risen  a  little,  and  it  is  a  long  climb  upward 
from  the  Andean  fastnesses  down  to  the  hidalgo 
exclusiveness  of  the  plateau  of  Constanza. 
But  an  ape-like  agility  at  climbing  and  the 
prurient  will  to  climb  were  descried  in  the 
puckering  folds  between  the  Runt's  eyes.  The 
folds  were  corrugations  wrought  by  impish 
craft,  though  the  Presidente  had  made  himself 
believe,  and  was  still  trying  to  make  the  outraged 
exclusiveness  of  Constanza  believe,  that  he  had 
risen  by  the  sword.  So  he  had,  but  by  other 
swords  than  his  own,  which  his  guile  had 
tricked  to  his  service,  while  each  sputter  of 
distant  musketry  griped  his  bowels  with  sickly 
fear. 

The  little  despot  did  not  know  that  Beauty, 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  257 

as  well  as  Family,  awaited  him  in  his  audience 
chamber,  else  he  would  have  been  more  precipi- 
tate, for  Beauty  was  notoriously  his  pleasure, 
and  pleasure  was  his  self -paid  reward  of  power. 
He  had  never  as  yet  looked  on  the  daughter 
of  his  first  prisoner  of  State,  and  the  few  of  his 
intimates  who  had  were  held  by  some  nebulous 
instinct  of  charity  from  picturing  her  to  the 
ruthless  outlaw. 

His  first  thought,  when  he  saw  her  now,  was 
to  curse  those  charitable  ones,  even  as  his  white 
teeth  smiled  out  of  the  black  beard  and  his 
eyes  narrowed  on  her  until  they  were  flecks  of 
lambent  steel.  He  took  her  hand  in  greeting, 
and  she  quickly  averted  her  head,  for  it  was 
as  though  a  toad  were  laid  to  her  flesh. 

"Ah,  Senorita,"  he  was  saying,  "to  think 
that  until  a  moment  ago  I  fancied  that  no  one 
could  be  more  welcome  here  this  day  than  your 
elusive  father!  —  How?  You  are  shuddering! 
Still,  as  you  know,  your  father  is  not  here." 

"It  is  because  of  that  happy  fact,  sefior,  that 
I  am  here." 

"Which    any    man,    Senorita,    and    I    first, 


258  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

would  account  superb  compensation.  Yet  Don 
Pedro  did  treat  me  shabbily  with  his  leave-taking, 
and'*  —  The  beard  parted  again  in  the  flash 
of  white  teeth.  —  "I  have  felt  it  deeply." 

"Evidently,  senor,  since  you  persecute  a 
young  foreigner  for  the  negligence  of  your 
jailors." 

"Lamentable,  is  it  not?"  sighed  His  Ex- 
cellency. 

''You  mean,"  cried  Dona  Pepita,  "you  mean 
that  you  are  really  going  to  shoot  that  poor 
boy?  Oh,  oh,  you  —  mountain  ruffian!" 
Then  instantly  the  good  soul  quailed  under  his 
frown. 

"The  fact  is,  senora,"  he  said  in  chilled, 
even  tones,  "that  I  have  only  just  promised 
an  account  of  the  affair  to  the  Minister  of 
the  United  States  of  the  North.  A  formality, 
you  understand,  to  be  rid  of  him,  for  I  do  not 
like  meddling,  senora.  I  do  not  like  meddling." 

:'Yet  at  the  risk  of  meddling,"  began  the 
Senorita,  when  he  interposed  to  assure  her  that 
she  might  risk  anything.  "Be  so  good,  senor," 
she  said,  flushing,  "as  to  spare  me  until  I  come 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  259 

for  favours.  I  was  only  going  to  ask  what  you 
propose  to  tell  the  American  Minister." 

"Why,"  he  exclaimed,  hot  now  in  temper, 
"the  condemned  Gringo  was  seen  helping  Don 
Pedro  to  escape.  Is  that  not  enough?" 

"Was  seen?"  She  pressed  a  gloved  finger 
to  her  lower  lip,  steadying  her  resolution.  "  Who 
saw  him  ?" 

"Colonel  Morder  saw  him." 

"And  no  one  else?" 

"  Peste,  Senorita,  where  are  you  driving  ?  No, 
no  one  saw  him  but  the  very  clever  Morder." 

"WTiere  was  Colonel  Morder  at  the  time?" 

"He  was  later  found  bound  and  gagged." 
The  Presidente  was  answering  his  own  thoughts 
more  than  her.  "Bound  and  gagged,"  he 
repeated  slowly  to  himself. 

Holding  the  gloved  finger  to  her  lip,  she  let  the 
poison  work. 

Suddenly  he  stamped  his  foot,  flung  up  his 
arms.  "Marvellous  intrigante,"  he  cried,  "tell 
me  how  much  did  your  father  pay  him  ?  How 
much,  how  much?" 

Mutely  she  nodded  to  her  aunt,  and  the  Dona 


260  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

fumbled  in  her  beaded  reticule  and  handed 
His  Excellency  a  folded  paper. 

As  the  Presidente  read,  his  jaw  dropped  lax. 
He  read  a  second  time. 

"Who  gave  you  this,  Senorita?" 

" Whose  name  is  signed  there?" 

"Morder's.     He  gave  it  to  you?" 

"Yes." 

"For  what?" 

"As  you  see,  it  is  a  receipt  for  a  chart  or  plan 
which  directed  him  to  a  buried  chest." 

"A  buried  chest?  All  your  father's  hidden 
fortune,  you  mean  to  say,  which  I  —  which 
my  government  had  confiscated!" 

"What  do  you  think  now,"  demanded  the 
Senorita,  "of  your  one  witness  against  the 
young  American?  Or  rather,  what  will  the 
United  States  of  the  North  think?" 

The  Presidente  brushed  that  aside.  "A  pest 
on  your  Americans,"  he  cried.  "And  on  then* 
gunboats,  too!  Dios,  am  I  in  my  dotage,  to  let 
Morder  herd  me  into  that  corral  ?  No,  Senorita, 
I'll  shoot  no  Americans  to-day." 

"And  he  goes  free?" 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  261 

"As  soon  as  a  man  may  let  go  a  hot  branding- 
iron.  But,"  said  the  Presidente,  sucking  in 
his  breath,  "  I  thank  you  again  for  compensation, 
for  I  may  have  my  little  fiesta  after  all.  You 
have  found  me  a  substitute  in  the  obsequies." 

"Wait,"  she  faltered.  Morder  had  forced 
lier  to  play  his  life  for  one  who  had  saved  her 
father  from  him.  Yet  now  that  it  was  done, 
she  could  not  leave  it  so.  "  Wait,  for  you  must 
know  that  the  chest  was  not  my  father's  at  all. 
It  was  a  sailor's  chest,  senor,  and  belonged  to  a 
naval  officer  named  Blackburn  who  commanded 
a  vessel  in  the  Civil  War  of  North  America. 
Captain  Blackburn  was  on  the  losing  side,  but 
he  slipped  through  a  blockade  and  was  pursued 
even  into  our  own  Puertocito.  My  father 
happened  to  be  in  Puertocito  at  the  time,  and  he 
really  saved  the  captain  and  crew,  I  believe,  from 
falling  into  the  hands  of  their  enemies  and  from 
starvation  as  well.  You  understand,  senor, 
that  Captain  Blackburn's  money,  which  his 
government  had  given  him  to  pay  off  the  crew, 
was  now  only  so  much  paper.  My  father 
prevailed  on  Captain  Blackburn  to  come  as  his 


BLAZE   DERRINGER 

guest  to  Constanza,  and  kept  him  as  long  as  he 
would  stay.  When  he  left,  he  laughingly  con- 
fided to  my  father  his  chest  of  Confederate 
money,  but  my  father  insisted  on  regarding  it 
as  a  trust,  so  he  buried  the  chest  and  made  out  a 
chart  for  finding  it  again.  Observe,  senor,  that 
it  is  for  this  chest  and  this  worthless  money  that 
you  are  going  to  execute  Colonel  Morder." 

The  Presidente  listened  graciously.  It  was 
a  delight  to  hear  her  clear  voice  and  its  sweet 
cadences,  to  watch  her  richly  curved  wrist  in 
its  gestures,  and  the  animation  of  her  expression. 
The  Presidente,  however,  wished  to  execute 
Morder  in  any  case.  Slowly  he  shook  his  head. 
"If  you  had  not  already  shown  yourself  so 
clever,  Senorita,"  he  said,  "then  what  you  have 
just  told  me  w^ould  seem  too  ingenious  not  to 
believe.  I  think,"  he  added  soothingly,  "that 
I  can  persuade  dear  Colonel  Morder  to  be  more 
convincing  regarding  this  chest." 

Poetic  justice,  and  she  the  vicar  of  Fate! 
If  the  Runt  of  Sylvanlitlan  meant  anything,  he 
meant  the  star-chamber  for  Colonel  Morder. 
And  Morder,  failing  to  surrender  a  fortune  he 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  263 

did  not  possess,  would  pass  on  to  execution. 
He  was  in  his  own  victim's  place.  Now  the  lass 
who  inspires  such  poesy  filches  from  Olympus, 
and  her  compassionate  heart  is  ground  and 
mangled  between  the  marble  hearts  of  the  gods. 

That  this  is  the  truth  slowly  entered  the  girl's 
soul.  To  save  the  wretch  who  had  devised 
torture  and  death  for  her  father  was,  it  seemed 
now,  to  save  her  own  right  to  happiness.  Were 
she  a  pagan,  she  must  have  despaired,  for  one 
may  not  contend  against  the  gods.  But  the 
maid  had  been  to  Boston  to  school,  and  out  of  her 
stress  there  came  resolve  with  precision.  Invok- 
ing what  despatch  she  might,  she  bade  the 
Presidente  a  very  good  morning. 

The  Presidente  watched  her,  as  for  that 
matter  no  one  partial  to  a  sweet  and  pretty 
girl  could  help  doing,  and  studied  her  thought- 
fully, until  she  and  the  Dona  had  passed  out 
of  his  audience  chamber.  For  a  moment 
after  she  was  gone  he  held  the  same  pose  and 
his  eyes  held  the  same  look.  Then  he  sum- 
moned De  Marzi. 

De  Marzi  sauntered  in,  rolling  a  cigarette. 


264  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

"Boy,"  said  the  Presidente,  "you  will  take 
at  once  an  order  of  release  for  the  Gringo  that 
Morder  arrested  this  morning." 

" Ai,  thank  Your  Excellency  for  that!"  ex- 
claimed De  Marzi.  "I  feared  you  would 
lose  me  a  pretty  fight." 

"How,  you  know  him  then?" 

"Oh  no,"  replied  the  audacious  rascal. 
"Once  he  bumped  against  me  on  the  Plaza,  but 
Your  Excellency  has  kept  me  so  busy  that " 

"And  busier  yet  I'll  keep  you.  Save  the 
affair  for  your  leisure,  boy,  and  meantime  you 
may  find  business  even  pleasanter.  Do  you 
know,  for  instance,  that  Don  Pedro  is  now 
on  the  high  seas?" 

De  Marzi  manifested  the  astonishment  his 
chief  expected. 

"He  must  have  gone,"  said  the  Presidente, 
"by  the  way  that  Morder  guarded  closest, 
which  was  last  night's  train  to  Puertocito.  The 
only  ship  that  left  Puertocito  this  morning  was 
the  Leviathan,  and  I  have  just  learned  that  her 
captain,  Blackburn  by  name,  is  an  old  friend 
of  Don  Pedro's.  The  Leviathan  is  northward 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  265 

bound,  and  her  next  stop  being  Punta  Tem- 
pestad " 

"But,  Your  Excellency,  that  is  in  Nueva 
Andalusia,  and  what  with  our  being  almost  at 
war,  they  would  never  let  me  take  Don  Pedro 
off  the  ship." 

"Exactly,  so  we  will  let  him  go.  But  he  has 
left  his  fortune  behind.  And  the  man  who  has 
it  —  Be  very  attentive  now,  boy  —  the  man 
who  has  it  is  Morder.  Not  long  ago  the 
Senorita  gave  Morder  a  chart  —  What  made 
you  start  then?" 

"It  was  —  I  think  there  is  a  flea  in  Your 
Excellency's  audience  chamber." 

"Possibly,  and  a  second  one  will  send  you 
hopping.  — Therefore,"  resumed  the  Presidente, 
"Morder  becomes  more  important  to  us  than 
Don  Pedro." 

"Ho,"  cried  the  young  officer,  "the  next 
commandant,  with  the  title  of  colonel,  is  to  be 
De  Marzi,  now  major." 

The  Presidente  scowled  indulgently  on  his 
favourite.  "You  are  forgetting  the  present 
incumbent,"  he  said. 


266  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"Oh  no.  Arrest  him  to-night.  Shoot  him 
to-morrow." 

"Boy,  boy,  he  has  too  many  friends." 

"Shoot  his  friends." 

"And  you  know  that  their  revolution  is  all  but 
started  already.  Now  lay  your  brain  to  your 
ears  a  moment.  One  very  clever  Morder  is  a 
thief  of  confiscated  goods,  eh  ?  Bueno,  there 
you  have  the  less  reason  for  touching  him." 

"Break  me  if  see!  I'd  shoot  him  the 
faster." 

His  Excellency  smiled.  He  often  thought 
aloud  before  the  young  firebrand.  It  gratified 
him  to  bewilder  hot-headed  daring,  and  see 
what  he  lacked  pay  tribute  to  his  tortuous 
guile. 

"Eh,  you  would?  And  yet,  when  a  man 
has  plunder  to  divide,  his  friends  do  wax  very 
peevish  at  any  hint  of  losing  him." 

De  Marzi  flung  his  cigarette  to  the  floor. 
"By  many  little  saintlets,"  he  cried,  "it  looks 
to  me  like  Your  Excellency  is  up  a  tree ! " 

"  However,  young  senor,  if  your  man  decamps 
with  the  loot,  and  you  catch  him  —  but," 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  267 

laughed  the  Runt,  "I  am  not  running  a  Latin 
American  school  for  presidents." 

"If  you  catch  him?"  pleaded  De  Marzi. 

"Blockhead,  his  friends  would  be  glad  if  you 
did  shoot  him." 

The  younger  rascal  brightened.  The  office 
of  commandant  was  growing  nearer. 

"Morder,"  pursued  the  other,  "will  probably 
flee  from  Constanza  to-night." 

"The  imbecile!     How  do  you  know  he  will  ?" 

"Because  the  Senorita  means  to  warn  him. 
That  little  was  easy  to  see  in  her  snapping  brown 
eyes  when  she  left  here  a  moment  ago." 

"The  Senorita!  —  uh,  presto,  I  am  to  intercept 
Morder  then?" 

"And  bring  his  plunder  back  with  you. 
Bring  to  me  the  millions  he  found  in  that 
chest.  —  Look  here,  boy,  what  manner  of  faces 
are  those  you  are  making?  If  it's  another 
flea " 

"No,  no,  Your  Excellency,  it's  the  same  one." 

"Huh,  I  envy  the  devil,"  said  the  Presidente, 
"when  you  break  in  his  door!  You  mouthful 
of  pepper,  aren't  you  afraid  even  of  me  ?  — 


268  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

Hold  a  moment.  There  is  another  matter, 
another  treasure  that  Don  Pedro  left  behind. 
She,"  added  the  Presidente,  "was  just  here." 

"She?"  De  Marzi  repeated  in  consternation. 

"Of  course.  But  you  do  not  know  her,  then  ? 
I  mean  the  Senorita.  And,"  said  the  Runt  of 
Sylvanlitlan,  while  in  De  Marzi's  black  eyes  hate 
of  him  grew  and  grew,  "I  want  her.  — Now  at 
last  we  are  getting  to  your  instructions,  boy. 
Having  looked  into  my  eyes,  she  knows  her  — 
peril.  Naturally,  also,  she  wishes  to  go  to  her 
father,  and  she  will  go  at  the  first  chance,  by  the 
most  likely  way  to  escape.  She  will  take  the  old 
military  road  to  the  frontier,  and  once  in  Nueva 
Andalusia,  she  will  meet  the  Leviathan  at 
Punta  Tempestad." 

The  hate  in  De  Marzi's  look  took  on  the  cast 
of  despair.  Involuntarily  a  cry  of  admiration 
for  the  man's  consummate  cunning  escaped 
him. 

"In  conclusion,"  said  His  Excellency,  "as 
the  same  reasoning  will  occur  to  Morder,  he  will 
travel  the  same  way,  and  there,  boy,  you  have 
a  double  opportunity," 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  269 

"To  bring  them  both  back,"  ruefully  muttered 
the  young  man. 

"You  go,"  said  the  Presidente,  "a  colonel. 
You  return  a  brigadier,  if " 

"If,"  cried  De  Marzi,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
eagerly  opening  his  arms  to  Fate,  "if  I  bring 
them  both  back!" 

"Oh,"  said  His  Excellency,  "I  will  not  trouble 
you  too  much  about  Morder.  He  might  resist, 
you  know,  and  then  —  Well,  make  sure  to  bring 
all  he  carries,  and  surest  of  all,  the  —  other 
prize." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

YOUR  play  is  luck,"  said  Morder  in  cha- 
grin and  wonderment.    "  You  stake  your 
life   on    a    woman's    word,  and  —  sweet 
saints!  — you  win." 

Blaze  Derringer  of  Texas  replied  simply  that 
it  had  not  been  a  gamble  at  all,  and  took  leave 
of  his  host,  concluding  what  had  been  a  half- 
day's  stay  in  the  fusilados  row  of  the  Constanza 
penitentiary. 

In  constant  adoration  of  the  wonderful  girl 
who  had  achieved  his  release,  Derringer  hailed 
the  first  public  hack  on  the  Paseo,  made  straight 
for  his  hotel,  there  applied  water  and  change 
of  raiment,  regained  the  sense  of  being  well 
groomed,  and  betook  himself  joyously  to  the 
mansion  of  the  Augustias. 

The  Presidente,  for  his  own  slant  purposes, 
had  called  off  the  sentry  at  the  gate,  so  that 
Derringer  met  no  obstacle  there.  Yet  not  easily, 

270 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  271 

nor  at  all,  did  he  find  the  girl  within.  It  was 
Aunt  Pepita  who  received  him. 

The  placid  Dona  beamed  on  him  fondly. 
He  had  just  escaped  the  shadow  of  death,  and 
to  her  mind  that  gave  any  good  woman  the  right 
to  mother  him.  It  would  be  a  heartless  shame 
if  he  were  not  coddled  and  cossetted.  Derringer 
received  it  all  in  a  mild  astonishment,  and  not 
without  a  fugitive  relish.  With  an  odd  twitching 
of  heart  strings,  he  realized  that  he  liked  being 
mothered.  Suddenly,  and  not  in  impudent 
mischief  either,  he  leaned  over  and  kissed  the 
rosy  Dona  on  the  cheek. 

She  blinked,  recovering  from  the  salute,  and 
seemed  of  a  mind  to  box  his  ears. 

"When  I  am  all  confusion,  too,"  she  said, 
"making  ready  to  leave  to-night!  Just  for 
that,"  she  added,  "I  am  going  to  take  you  with 
us." 

"To  make  real  sure,"  returned  the  young 
man,  "maybe  I'd  better  do  it  again." 

"Poor  boy,"  she  said,  "do  you  think  I  could 
leave  you  behind  for  those  wicked  monsters  to 
shoot  ?  No,  no,  it  is  all  arranged.  Bess  — 


BLAZE  DERRINGER 

you  have  met  my  niece  ?  —  Well,"  said  the 
Dona,  "I  fear  Bess  has  what  she  calls  a  New 
England  conscience,  as  though  there  were  not 
woe  enough  in  this  world,  the  saints  do  know. 
Think  of  it  —  and  oh,  how  careful  she  is  to 
make  it  very  plain  to  me !  —  you  may  get  your- 
self fusilladed  afterward  if  you  choose.  After- 
ward, senor,  but  not  now.  Oh  no!  not  now. 
My  little  lady  forbids  it.  And  though  you 
risked  your  life  for  pay  and  Don  Pedro  has  no 
doubt  paid  you,  yet  she  feels  that  the  debt  is  not 
settled.  There  is  nothing  for  it  but  that  she 
must  help  you  out  of  Sylvanlitlan." 

Derringer  flushed  to  his  red  hair,  yet  would 
not  make  the  denial  that  the  Dona,  and  possibly 
Bess  also,  obviously  wanted.  He  said  nothing 
of  refusing  Don  Pedro's  pay.  But,  though  a 
thoroughbred  like  Bess  would  save  a  spotted 
Hottentot  if  nobility  obliged,  he  thought  it 
rather  rubbing  it  in  to  despise  him  as  a  mercenary 
in  the  lists.  Even  those  Swiss  guards  on  the 
steps  at  Versailles  have  their  monument. 

"Think  of  it."  The  Dona  was  curiously 
insistent.  "Think,  she  resents  yarur  doing  it 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  273 

for  money."  Not  Jenkins's  doing  it,  not  even 
old  Slag,  deep-dyed  in  mercenary  adventuring. 
But  he  was  blind  to  her  help,  and  she,  provoked 
at  the  stupidity  of  men,  would  help  him  no- 
further.  She  drowned  pity,  and  let  him  yearn 
in  vain  to  see  Miss  Bess. 

"  My  niece  is  very  busy  arranging  for  our 
departure,"  she  said,  "and  she  wished  me  ta 
tell  you  what  you  were  to  do." 

That  wras  galling.  He  had  come  to  take 
Bess  to  her  father.  And  here  she  was,  tucking 
him  under  her  wing  like  a  friendless  waif. 

"First,"  said  the  Dona,  "can  you  drive  four 
horses?" 

He  tried  hard  to  be  docile.  "I've  herded 
them  by  the  hundred,"  he  replied. 

"  I  mean  horses  to  a  diligencia  —  to  a  stage 
coach ! "  They  were  going,  she  explained,  by  the 
old  stage  route  to  Punta  Tempestad,  where  they 
would  be  out  of  Sylvanlitlan  and  free  to  take 
ship  for  any  haven  on  the  globe ;  where,  indeed, 
they  hoped  to  meet  Bess's  father.  Turbulence 
had  kept  railroads  out  of  Sylvanlitlan  until  a 
few  years  past,  and  the  Senorita's  majordomo- 


274  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

had  picked  out  and  bought  one  of  the  old  stage 
coaches  that  needed  only  dusting  and  axle 
grease.  Their  two  spans  of  carriage  horses 
would  be  hitched  to  the  coach,  and  they  might 
take  their  own  coachman,  but  as  Derringer  was 
to  go  with  them,  and  he  could  drive  .  .  . 

"By  all  means,"  said  Derringer,  "please  let 
me  be  coachman." 

He  was  replacing  a  servant.  Moreover,  he 
could  conceive  of  no  peril  on  the  way  to  promote 
him  to  a  man's  work.  But  he  accepted  like  a 
sportsman.  He  had  brought  on  himself  Bess's 
rating  of  him.  His  irresponsible,  wildly  reckless 
and  dawdling  past  had  done  that.  WeD  and 
good,  there  was  the  fiddler  to  pay;  and  your 
genuine  sportsman  pays  his  losses.  Besides,  no 
downright  gentleman  could  pay  less  than  cheer- 
fully for  the  beautiful  soul  who  was  Dona  Pepita. 

At  dusk  that  afternoon  he  returned,  bringing 
his  luggage  in  a  hack,  to  find  the  old  stage 
coach  and  four  already  at  the  Augustias  gate. 
With  scant  elation  he  climbed  to  the  box,  took 
the  lines,  and  waited.  The  Senorita's  house- 
hold were  bringing  forth  chests,  trunks,  baskets, 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  275 

and  loading  them  on  top  or  filling  the  boot. 
There  were  the  capacious  portmanteaus  of  our 
grandfathers,  and  lastly,  the  swagger  little 
suit  case  with  which  the  Princess  of  Sylvanlitlan 
returned  from  school  in  Boston.  Inside  the 
coach  were  billows  of  shawls  and  pillows  and 
rugs  and  bear  robes  and  skins  of  mountain  lions ; 
and  ever  and  anon  a  flurried  servant  came  run- 
ning to  add  one  more  to  the  heap,  lest  the 
Dona  or  Senorita  be  frozen  to  death  going 
over  the  divide.  The  travellers  were  taking 
with  them  what  intimate  belongings  they  might, 
for  they  pictured  quite  well  the  day  following, 
when  the  Runt  would  step  in  and  confiscate  the 
mansion  and  gardens  of  the  first  Don  Pedro. 
The  wTomen  servants  sniffled  like  heart-broken 
children  as  they  hurried  out  with  bundles  and 
bags,  and  the  men  were  hardly  in  better  case. 
Except  the  Senorita's  maid  and  that  reliable 
creature  who  did  the  household  marketing,  they 
were  all  to  be  left  behind,  though  had  there 
been  more  stage  coaches,  the  Senorita  in  the 
moment  of  farewell  would  have  taken  every 
last  soul  of  them  with  her. 


276  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

That  moment  arrived.  The  servants  could 
think  of  nothing  more  to  bring,  and  were 
scolding  one  another  through  their  tears, 
demanding  if  this  thing  or  that  thing  had  not 
been  forgotten,  when  the  Dona  and  Bess 
appeared  in  the  great  doorway  of  the  house  and 
came  slowly  down  the  walk.  The  poor  Dona's 
face  was  buried  in  her  hands,  and  her  ample 
shoulders  rose  and  fell  with  her  sobbing.  At 
the  gate  she  stopped  and  looked  back,  faltering, 
but  the  girFs  hand  at  her  elbow  gently  urged 
her  on.  The  servants  whimpered  aloud,  and 
Bess,  though  her  lashes  were  wet,  half  smiled 
and  told  her  aunt  to  mind  the  step.  Derringer's 
impulse  was  to  leap  down  and  get  them  comfort- 
ably fixed  inside,  but  he  dreaded  what  might 
seem  intrusion,  and  stayed  where  he  was.  He 
noted  that  Bess  did  not  look  back  at  the  home 
she  was  leaving,  and  that  she  pressed  her 
handkerchief  to  her  trembling  lip  even  as 
she  rallied  them  all.  He  felt  that  her  grief 
was  of  a  different  quality.  Her  eyes  lifted  to 
the  driver's  seat,  and  he  knew  with  a  thrill 
that  they  lighted  with  pleased  recognition. 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  277 

Woman's  graciousness  had  never  equalled  that, 
he  was  sure,  and  it  was  mortal  hard  to  feel 
himself  a  stranger  in  her  moment  of  sorrow. 
It  is  certain  that  this  was  the  cruellest  moment 
the  boy  had  known  in  Sylvanlitlan. 

In  the  instant  that  the  wheels  were  clear  of 
the  hovering  household,  he  broke  the  tension 
of  agony  with  a  crack  of  his  long  whip  and  they 
were  off.  He  could  do  her  that  kindness,  at 
least. 

Up  the  Paseo  of  Palms  they  rattled  briskly, 
passing  the  Hospital  on  one  side  and  the  castel- 
lated towers  of  the  prison  on  the  other,  to  the 
church  at  the  end.  Then,  swerving  into  a  wide 
white  road  across  the  cactus  plateau  toward  the 
black  silhouette  of  mountains,  the  old  diligence 
rumbled  and  lumbered  along  to  the  snap  and 
hiss  of  the  Texan's  whip.  The  Dona  had 
directed  him  already  how  to  find  the  road.  She 
and  Bess  and  the  two  women  with  them  had 
travelled  it  often  going  to  one  of  Don  Pedro's 
haciendas  near  the  coast.  Twice  or  three 
times  that  night  Derringer  had  to  stop  at  a  fork, 
and  the  marketing  woman  would  open  the  door 


278  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

and  point  out  the  main  highway  for  him. 
Otherwise  he  had  no  sign  of  his  passengers  the 
whole  night  long.  From  much  experience  they 
knew  how  to  compose  themselves  for  such  rest 
mid  jolts  as  a  stage  coach  affords. 

It  was  the  old  military  road  built  by  the 
viceroys  to  endure  as  long  as  Spain  meant  to 
hold  the  province,  which  was  a  longer  time 
than  the  province  endured  Spain.  Derringer 
blessed  the  viceroys  for  their  road,  and  was  glad 
that  Bess's  ancestor,  the  first  Don  Pedro,  had 
let  them  stay  long  enough  to  finish  it  for  her. 
Where  the  highway  rounded  the  shoulder  of  a 
mountain  at  a  staggering  height,  the  viceroys 
had  made  it  wide.  Where  it  slanted  down 
toward  the  sea,  they  had  softened  the  grade 
by  patient  winding  turns.  Through  forests  of 
mahogany,  where  night  was  a  blanket  between 
man  and  his  stars,  horses  and  wheels  yet  found 
rock  ballast  in  the  soggy  stretches.  By  their 
road  the  viceroys  smote  rebellion  swiftly,  and 
never  a  cannon  mired.  It  was  Spain  that  had 
mired. 

The  cool  air  off  the  sierras  was  a  tonic  and 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  279 

zest  to  manhood,  with  yet  a  languorous  caress 
in  the  breeze  that  touched  the  cheek.  From  the 
heights  Derringer  gazed  over  the  silent  bigness 
of  the  world.  He  was  in  a  long  reverie.  "  What 
one  little  darn  fool  I've  been!"  A  bracing 
draught  from  the  peaks  got  into  his  lungs. 
"I  wonder  if  I'd  have  the  dizzy  impertinence 
to  try  to  amount  to  something.  .  .  .  I  —  I 
wish  she  was  sitting  here  by  me."  Then, 
through  the  fearsome  forest:  "But  what  could 
I  say  to  her  —  important  ?.  Me  ? 

.  .  .  Humph!"  He  bitterly  perceived  that 
he  would  say  nothing  important.  He  was  very 
hard  on  himself  in  the  fearsome  forest.  Pulp 
for  character,  pith  for  backbone,  bootless  adven- 
ture for  achievement,  and  eleven  dollars  and 
thirty-five  cents  for  property  —  well,  no,  not 
if  he  cared  much  for  her,  he  wouldn't.  But  he'd 
be  game,  by  the  Lord!  He'd  try  to  be  some- 
thing, anyway.  Still,  it  was  going  to  be  very, 
very  lonesome. 

And  then,  coming  out  of  the  forest  upon  the 
plain,  he  discovered  that  the  world  was  gray  — 
a  very  old,  wise,  immutable  world.  Yet  even 


280  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

now  the  rosy  spears  of  day  were  prodding 
her  back  again  to  the  lively  jig  of  Youth. 
Whereupon  the  door  of  the  coach  opened,  and 
Miss  Bess  called  up  to  ask  if  he  would  like  some 
breakfast. 

He  reined  in  the  horses  and  jumped  down. 
She  was  just  stepping  out  upon  the  road.  In 
her  arms  there  nestled  an  enormous  wicker 
hamper.  "Good  morning,"  she  said  over  the 
hamper.  "I'm  coming  up  with  you,  and  we'll 
both  have  breakfast.  Aunt  Pepita  is  asleep  yet. 
Thank  you.  Oh  my,  do  be  careful!  There 
are  plates  in  there." 

He  swung  the  hamper  in  front  of  the  driver's 
seat.  She  followed,  almost  before  he  could 
lend  a  hand,  and  then  he  was  beside  her,  and 
they  were  jogging  along  again.  Peering  into 
the  hamper,  she  spread  the  feast  on  the  seat 
between  them;  snowy  linen,  and  fruit  of 
rich  colours,  and  sandwiches,  and  tortillas, 
and  . 

"Pie!"  Her  eyes  sparkled.  "I  learned  how 
at  school,  you  know,  and  it  makes  us  so  different 
from  the  rest  of  Sylvanlitlan.  Won't  you " 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  281 

"Thanks,  I  think  I'll  try  a  slice  of  that 
pineapple,"  said  the  Texan. 

He  took  the  lines  in  one  hand,  and  kept  her 
company  at  breakfast  with  the  other.  He 
caught  his  breath  whenever  he  looked  at  her. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?"  she  demanded 
at  last. 

Matter!  There  were  roses  in  her  cheeks,  the 
dawn  in  her  eyes,  paradise  on  her  lips.  Added 
to  all  of  which,  there  was  one  of  those  gauzy 
white  veils  over  her  Leghorn  hat  and  bunched 
under  her  chin,  and  the  devastation  of  the 
witching  picture  in  its  witchery  of  frame  was 
complete. 

"Uh,"  replied  Derringer.  "Yes,  the  top 
slice,  please." 

So  they  travelled  on  and  on,  up  a  little  hill, 
and  down  again,  and  halfway  round  another 
little  hill,  and  into  a  shady  wood,  where  the 
branches  interlaced  overhead,  and  dazzling 
birds  were  up  for  the  day  and  very  noisy  about 
it,  and  a  python  yards  and  yards  long  rustled 
away  through  the  brush,  and  vines  clung  to  the 
trees,  and  blossoms  peeped  from  the  vines,  and 


282  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

every  breath  was  the  perfume  of  flowering  life; 
and  he  could  not  keep  his  eyes  from  her  face,  and 
in  all  the  world  he  had  never  known  there  could 
be  such  sweet  companionship  for  mortal  man, 
and  . 

It  is  necessary  to  state  that  there  in  the  road 
ahead  was  Colonel  Manrique  Morder  on  a  big 
gray  horse,  waiting  for  them. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-TWO 

AAIN  they  were  like  two  bewildered  chil- 
dren confronting  their  familiar  bogie- 
man.  And  like  that  other  time  in  the 
Senorita's  music  room,  the  bogie-man  plainly 
thought  them  delightful,  for  he  was  smiling  on 
them  in  the  same  exasperating,  benign  man- 
ner, as  though  he  quite  approved  of  their  run- 
ning away  on  top  of  a  stage  coach  and  eating 
tarts  and  jams  and  pickles  with  their  fingers 
while  they  did  it. 

Derringer  could  not  swear  with  Bess  there 
beside  him.  ''Wouldn't  your  Aunt  Pepita  say 
'Drat  the  man,'  or  something  like  that?"  he 
muttered  instead.  — "Whoa!" 

He  drew  up  sharply,  for  the  big  gray  was 
wedged  half  across  the  road.  "Look  here, 
Colonel,  what  seems  to  be  the  trouble  so  early 
in  the  morning?" 

The   Colonel    grunted    deep    in    his    chest, 

283 


284  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

and  went  on  swelling  with  ponderous  affability 
in  the  Seiiorita's  honour.  He  flung  the  scarlet 
facing  of  his  military  cape  over  his  shoulder, 
swept  low  his  cap,  and  when  he  spoke,  his  voice 
was  lowered  to  its  deepest  and  most  flattering 
cadence. 

Would  she  accept  a  thousand  apologies  for  the 
interruption  ?  —  How,  one  would  be  sufficient  ? 
—  Ah,  but  she  must  condone  his  desire  for 
peace  of  mind,  since  peace  of  mind  could  never 
be  his  if  he  did  not  thank  her  for  her  message 
of  warning.  He  had  received  it  the  afternoon 
before,  in  time  to  save  him  from  the  Runt  of 
Sylvanlitlan.  And,  the  Colonel  went  on,  letting 
his  deep  tones  soften  in  especial  emphasis, 
and,  most  blessed  boon  of  all,  her  message  had 
thus  endowed  him  with  this  divine  chance  to 
join  his  flight  with  her  own. 

Derringer  sat  up  straight.  The  girl  beside 
him  grew  rigid. 

Suavely  Morder  proceeded.  He  had  followed 
them  throughout  the  night,  he  said;  then  had 
passed  them  by  trails  under  cover  of  the  wood. 
The  frontier  was  yet  several  hours  distant, 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  285 

and  the  Presidente's  choicest  ruffians  might 
waylay  them  at  any  turn.  The  Colonel  begged 
her,  therefore,  to  accept  his  nearer  escort. 
The  obvious  arrangement,  he  perceived,  was 
for  him  to  drive,  while  his  young  American 
friend  served  as  outrider  on  the  gray  horse. 
His  young  American  friend  would  thus  con- 
siderately draw  the  fire  of  any  Presidential 
ambush. 

"  Well,  I'll  be "  began  Derringer,  and 

stopped,  for  Bess  was  laughing  at  him.  That 
made  him  writhe  angrily.  Nevertheless,  her 
mirth  was  near  to  panic.  She  recognized  the 
situation  as  identical  with  that  of  the  morning 
before  in  her  music  room.  Though  in  flight, 
Morder  was  still  intent  on  the  heiress.  It  was 
the  same  scene  with  different  scenery.  Her 
sole  dependence  was  the  red-haired  Texan 
beside  her.  She  glanced  at  him  covertly,  and 
noted  with  amusement  the  refreshing  readiness 
for  trouble  in  his  eyes. 

"Possibly,"  she  said  lightly,  though  her  voice 
trembled,  "  Mr.  Derringer  might  even  yet  be  po- 
lite enough  to  resent  being  driven  from  my  side." 


286  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

Derringer  roused  himself  joyously.  He  wanted 
but  that.  "Clear  the  road,"  he  burst  forth, 
shaking  out  the  lines.  Morder  leaned  from  his 

saddle,  and  caught  the  leader's  bridle.  He  held 
up  an  imploring,  deprecating  hand.  He  begged 
one  word  more.  For  the  Senorita's  good,  he 
would  impose  his  will,  his  resolve  to  protect  her. 

"Now  that  will  be  about  enough,"  yelled 
Derringer,  snatching  up  the  whip.  "Get  out 
of  the  way!" 

Morder  braced  himself  against  the  horses, 
and  held  them,  blandly  smiling  and  blandly 
shaking  his  head. 

His  intent  was  plain.  As  by  a  flash  of  light- 
ning, they  saw  in  him  the  abductor.  A  wave 
of  red  swept  over  the  girl,  and  she  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands.  Derringer's  pistols  were 
on  the  seat,  under  his  hands.  But  he  feared 
to  risk  either  his  own  marksmanship  or 
Morder's.  He  might  miss.  And  if  Morder 
missed,  he  might  hit  the  girl.  It  was  another 
deadlock.  But  to  give  way  was  to  surrender 
Bess  to  him.  Rather  than  that,  it  would  be 
necessary  to  risk  marksmanship,  everything. 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  287 

"See  here,  Colonel,"  Derringer  protested 
fretfully,  "this  pussy-in-the-corner  business 
every  day  gets  tiresome.  But  I'll  play  it  just 
this  once  more.  Now  seriously,  Colonel/'  and 
his  voice  sobered  to  deadly  earnestness,  "do 
you  mean  that  it's  my  first  move?" 

Morder  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Yes,"  he 
said,  "it  is  to  you  the  first  move,  senor." 

Derringer  took  the  word  regretfully.  He 
gave  Bess  the  lines.  His  left  hand  flattened  on 
the  seat  and  closed  over  the  revolver  there.  In 
his  right  he  held  the  long  whip,  and  swung  it 
over  his  head.  The  tired  horses  put  back  their 
ears,  quivering.  Morder  tightened  his  grip  on 
the  leader's  bridle,  and  braced  himself  for  the 
shock.  But  the  whip,  circling  backward,  fell 
inert  across  the  top  of  the  coach.  From  the 
opened  window  of  the  coach  the  Dona  was 
calling,  anxiously,  imperiously.  Derringer  did 
not  understand  at  first.  He  thought  she  had 
stepped  from  the  coach.  He  could  not  leave 
her  behind. 

"Come  down  to  me  this  instant,"  she  cried. 
"  You  will  be  hurt.  This  Morder  will  hurt  you." 


288  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

The  good  soul  had  awakened,  and  one 
frightened  glance  at  the  ponderous  equestrian 
menace  was  enough.  She  ordered  Derringer 
to  come  down  to  her  at  once.  She  ordered 
Morder  not  to  hurt  him. 

Derringer  himself  was  the  first  to  laugh. 

But  then  Morder  laughed.  More  than  that, 
bowing  low  over  the  saddle  to  the  agitated  face 
at  the  window,  he  uttered  profuse  assurances 
that  he  would  not  hurt  the  little  man. 

And  then  Bess  laughed  —  a  fluttering,  touch- 
and-go  mirth  as  her  nerves  slipped  from  their 
high  tension.  Morder  laughed  louder,  and  there 
was  a  nasty,  stinging  inflection  of  mockery  in  it. 
Derringer  felt  himself  vaguely  smarting  under 
ridicule.  His  own  nerves  were  pretty  tightly 
strung  by  now,  and  ready  to  screech  in  any  key. 
The  pistol  was  still  under  his  left  hand.  Morder 
was  off  guard,  and  here  was  his  chance.  But 
pistols  were  not  deadly  enough.  His  eyes 
glittered  vengefully. 

"Quick,  Bess,"  he  hissed,  "slip  me  one  of 
those  pies!" 

There  was  a  sudden  plunge  of  the  horses,  a 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  289 

lurch  and  swerve,  like  a  stage  in  a  Wild  West 
show  pursued  by  Indians,  and  as  they  flashed 
past  Morder's  sardonic,  grinning  visage,  Der- 
ringer hurled  at  the  visage  what  was  in  his  hand. 

"Now  laugh!"  he  shrieked. 

Bess  clung  to  the  swaying  coach,  and  looked 
back. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  oh,  even  if  he  does  kill  us 
now,  we  are  even,  we  are  even!" 

She  turned  to  the  happy,  red-haired  Texan 
beside  her,  and  the  fun  dancing  in  her  eyes 
leaped  to  an  ecstasy  of  adoration.  Her  arm, 
along  the  back  of  the  seat,  lifted  of  itself.  She 
almost  flung  it  about  his  neck.  "No!"  she 
panted  in  alarm,  blushing  furiously.  She  looked 
back  again. 

"If  you  could  only  look,  too,"  she  cried, 
while  Derringer  sawed  on  the  reins.  "His  horse 
is  prancing  all  over  the  road,  and  he's  —  he's 
wiping  the  custard  out  of  his  eyes." 

"Lemon  custard,  Bess  ?" 

"Yes,  yes." 

"Ouch,  what  a  successful  pie!" 

"Poor,  proud  fool,"  she  mused,  a  little  of 


290  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

pity  in  her  laughter,  "he'd  rather  you  had 
killed  him.  —  What,  why,  look,  look,  he's 
coming!  He's  coming  after  us!" 

Derringer  darted  a  look  behind.  "  Yes  — 
no.  No,  he's  not.  It's  his  horse.  The  scared 
brute  is  raving  crazy."  Only  in  time  he  swung 
the  coach  to  the  roadside,  and  let  the  runaway 
clatter  past. 

Morder  was  bent  back  over  the  haunches, 
his  weight  against  the  bit,  his  spurred  heels 
kicking  savagely  into  the  animal's  flanks. 

"What's  the  idiot  about?"  cried  Derringer. 
"He's  crazier  than  his  horse.  —  Now  what " 

There  was  something  —  a  dusky  crouching 
figure  of  a  man  with  a  lariat  —  in  the  road 
ahead.  The  great  gray  horse  planted  his  fore- 
feet together,  and  Morder  shot  over  his  head 
to  the  ground.  Instantly  other  men,  tawny, 
uniformed,  sandalled  fellows,  soldiers  of  the 
Republic,  came  springing  from  the  wood. 

Derringer  jerked  his  horses  to  a  halt,  and  he 
and  Bess  gazed  spellbound,  while  Dona  Pepita 
and  the  two  serving  women  let  their  shrieks 
rise  to  heaven.  In  the  might  of  his  rage, 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  291 

Morder  was  struggling  to  his  feet.  He  brushed 
men  from  him  on  right  and  left.  He  was  like  a 
wounded  lion  in  a  pack  of  wolves. 

"The  man's  game!"  Derringer  cried  exult- 
antly. "Look,  Bess,  isn't  he  game?  Isn't  he 
game?"  He  stirred  restlessly,  uncertain. 

Her  hand  clutched  his  arm.  He  turned  from 
the  glorious  fight  of  a  man  for  his  life  to  the 
girl,  and  in  the  deathly  white  of  her  face  he 
forgot  all  else. 

"  The  Presidente  has  sent  them,"  she  moaned. 
"The  Presidente  has  sent  them!" 

She  might  not,  while  men  snarled  and  yelped 
to  tear  out  the  life  of  a  fellow  man,  tell  him  that 
this  was  her  rebuke  from  the  gods,  but  he  saw 
in  her  face  the  fateful  horror  there,  and  under- 
stood instinctively. 

"No,"  she  cried,  throwing  both  arms  fiercely 
and  tightly  about  his  neck,  "I  did  not  mean 
that  you-  -No,  no!" 

Yet  with  a  yell  of  joy  he  was  over  the  wheel, 
and  making  a  dash  of  it  straight  for  the  fray. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THREE 

THE  feeling  of  her  arms  about  bin  neck, 
the  cling  of  them,  stayed  with  him  as  he 
dashed  into  the  broil,  and  he  swung  his 
own  arms,  because  they  ached  to  catch  up  adver- 
saries and  joyously  hurl  them  over  the  moon. 
And  he  could  do  it.  There  was  no  doubt  about 
that.  He  was  a  young  fellow  in  love.  Divine 
might  was  ablaze  in  his  soul  and  sinews  at  touch 
of  the  loved  one,  and  he  was  the  peer  of  demi- 
gods. Moreover,  she  was  watching  him.  Re- 
member that.  Now  you  will  understand.  This 
is  purely  biological.  Romance  is  the  exactest 
science.  Note  the  incontinent  overcharge  of 
steam  that  pertains  to  a  demigod  in  battle. 
Note  the  explosion,  like  a  boiler,  and  the  frag- 
mentary downpour  of  foeman.  No  micro- 
scope, nor  telescope,  nor  scales  and  mathematics 
are  needed  —  only  what  is  left  in  your  veins  of 
Youth! 

•M 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  293 

The  girl  on  the  box  of  the  coach  incoherently 
saw  the  red  hair  blow  perpendicular  in  the 
breeze  made  by  his  running.  She  saw  that 
touch  of  colour  mingle  agitatedly  in  the  blur 
of  the  melee. 

" Please,  please,  my  aunt,"  she  cried,  "do 
stop  screaming!  Yes,  yes,  he  may  be  shot, 

but "  her  little  fists  were  tightly  clenched, 

"but  he  is  a  man." 

The  shooting  —  sporadic,  panicky  —  was  sky- 
ward. It  was  a  manifestation  of  the  will  to 
shoot,  an  acting  out  of  the  theory  that  here  was 
the  time  and  place  for  shooting.  Only,  the 
assassins  were  hampered  in  the  manner  there- 
of. On  the  fringe  of  the  pack  they  yelled 
to  the  hounds  at  the  centre  to  fall  away  from 
the  range  of  fire;  and  being  unheard,  unheeded, 
they  clawed  in  to  bring  down  the  quarry  with 
their  own  ten  fingers.  Half  blinded  by  blood 
from  a  split  forehead,  Morder  used  his  revolver 
as  a  flail,  and  clogged  his  foot-room  with  fallen 
bodies.  Derringer  pierced  a  trail  to  him. 

The  boy's  first  inspiration  was  Quixotic:  to 
help  the  under  dog,  a  very  dog  that  had  bitten 


294  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

him,  and  would  again,  perhaps.  But  inspira- 
tion gave  way  to  the  seasonably  practical.  Two 
were  better  than  one  against  the  ambush  meant 
for  them  both.  Two  divided  the  hopelessness 
of  it  by  half;  or,  if  you  prefer,  doubled  the  zero 
of  hope.  Either  way,  it  was  the  arithmetic  of 
despair  —  allowing  always,  of  course,  for  the 
ecstasy  of  blows.  And  the  blows! 

It  was  thus  that  old  man  Derringer  found 
his  boy. 

The  old  cattleman  had  wondered,  it  may  be 
recalled,  what  sort  of  boy  he  had  by  now;  had 
wondered  so  greatly,  that  he  was  combing  the 
seas  in  search  of  that  boy.  And  now  when  he 
found  the  lad,  he  was  not  surprised  to  find  him 
dealing  out  trouble.  But  for  all  that  a  thrill 
shot  through  the  cockles  of  his  heart  to  behold 
him  at  it;  at  it  so  beautifully.  Old  man  Der- 
ringer's Comanche-like  whoop  was  as  much 
a  cry  of  the  soul  to  take  his  boy  to  his  arms 
as  to  snatch  him  from  peril. 

"Fightin',  eh?  Fightin'  again,  eh?"  he 
roared,  taking  a  hand. 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  295 

He  was  not  the  only  one  who  took  a  hand. 
There  were  others  with  him — four  sailors  off  the 
Derringer  yacht,  and  Jenkins,  and  Slag,  and 
Don  Pedro  de  Las  Augustias;  quite  the 
capacity  of  Derringer's  biggest  touring-car. 
But  wait! 

It  must  be  mentioned  that  events  had  so 
linked  themselves,  one  to  the  other,  that  it 
would  have  been  the  most  improbable  thing 
in  the  world  had  old  man  Derringer  happened 
at  that  moment  to  arrive  at  any  other  spot  on 
the  globe  than  at  just  this  one  spot  in  South 
America. 

He  had  failed  to  discover  the  wanderer  in 
Trinidad.  Wiring  first  to  many  American  Min- 
isters, he  had  then  turned  his  yacht  northward, 
still  on  the  scent  of  the  Leviathan;  and  he  had 
passed  Puertocito  by  in  order  to  overtake  the 
Leviathan  at  her  next  stop,  which  was  Punta 
Tempestad.  There,  sure  enough,  he  did  find 
the  Leviathan,  and  boarding  her  in  haste,  he 
found  not  only  her  captain,  Ben  Blackburn, 
but  Jenkins,  and  Slag,  and  Don  Pedro;  and  all 
four  of  them  made  for  him  a  colourful  narrative 


296  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

concerning  his  debonair  son  and  heir  that 
churned  the  very  breath  of  him  into  a  swirling 
tempest  of  impatience.  The  trouble  was,  they 
could  not  complete  the  story  for  him.  The  boy 
had  stayed  behind  in  Sylvanlitlan  to  cap  the 
climax  himself.  The  climax  would  probably 
be  the  execution  of  a  red-haired  lad.  Don 
Pedro  reminded  old  man  Derringer  that  he,  too, 
had  a  child  back,  there,  and  despite  all  that  his 
friend  Blackburn  might  say,  he  was  resolved  to 
return  for  her  at  once. 

There  followed  an  invitation.  "Captain  Ben 
has  to  be  gettin'  along  with  his  tub,"  said  old 

man  Derringer,  "but "  and  he  pointed 

to  his  yacht,  white  and  glistening;  and  also,  on 
her  deck  he  pointed  to  an  automobile  of  tre- 
mendous horse-power. 

Within  an  hour  the  monster  car  was  gorging 
itself  on  a  diet  of  distance,  across  the  frontier 
and  over  into  Sylvanlitlan.  They  stopped 
sooner  than  they  expected,  for  their  destination 
had  advanced  to  meet  them.  Ahead,  on  the 
driver's  seat  of  a  halted  stage  coach,  Don  Pedro 
beheld  his  daughter.  The  others  swept  from 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  297 

the  car  to  straighten  out  the  fiery  little  battle 
at  the  roadside,  but  Don  Pedro  rejoined  his 
daughter. 

Those  of  the  army  of  Sylvanlitlan  melted 
away  from  the  honey  of  conflict  like  flies  before 
a  palmetto-leaf  fan.  The  Americans,  offended 
and  hurt  at  the  brevity  of  the  sport,  pursued 
them  hopefully  into  the  wood,  taking  revolver 
pot-shots  as  they  ran. 

Young  Derringer,  in  the  first  unencumbered 
moment,  turned  grinning  to  his  dad,  and  to- 
gether they  went  panting  and  crashing  after  the 
vanishing  bravoes.  Young  Derringer,  however, 
did  not  go  far.  An  emptying  sense  of  something 
forgotten  held  him.  He  remembered,  hurried 
back  to  the  road,  and  looked  for  the  coach. 
But  she,  Bess,  was  not  on  the  box.  The 
driver's  seat  was  empty,  and  the  wearied  horses 
stood  dejectedly.  He  was  in  time,  though,  to 
see  a  gaily  uniformed  figure,  a  figure  of  cat-like 
agility,  break  from  the  edge  of  the  wood  and 
spring  to  the  coach,  catching  up  lines  and 
whip  and  heading  the  horses  back  toward 
Constanza. 


298  BLAZE  DERRINGER 

As  the  lash  cracked  and  the  horses  plunged, 
Derringer  heard  screams  within  the  coach. 
The  man  on  the  box  was  De  Marzi.  The 
jaunty  rascal  was  snatching  one  prize  at  least, 
the  prize,  out  of  the  sorry  mess  he  had  made  of 
the  Presidente's  business.  Bess,  so  Derringer 
immediately  supposed,  was  inside  the  coach 
with  her  aunt,  and  now  the  coach  was  receding 
in  its  own  dust-cloud,  and  the  screams  were 
growing  faint.  Meantime,  Derringer  was  at 
his  father's  automobile,  cranking,  swearing, 
cranking.  Abruptly,  as  at  a  signal  shot,  vibra- 
tory life  seized  on  the  vitals  of  the  thing.  Der- 
ringer jumped  aboard,  jammed  the  clutch,  and 
bellied  low  to  the  chase.  Over  the  back,  unseen 
and  unheard,  a  man  tumbled  into  the  car  as  it 
started,  and  crouched  there,  his  eyes  straining 
fixedly  on  the  dust-cloud  ahead. 

Around  a  curve  in  the  highway,  halfway  up  a 
little  hill,  with  the  old  creaking  stage  coach  not  a 
hundred  explosions  ahead,  it  was  then  that  the 
monster  automobile  gasped  and  went  as  dead  as 
a  rusted  machine  shop.  Derringer  urged  her, 
urged  her  at  each  point  of  persuasion,  but  vainly. 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  299 

In  his  first  muttered  invocation  of  hell  about  the 
matter,  he  was  aware  of  a  body  thumping  to  the 
road  beside  the  car,  and  then  of  a  man  pounding 
up  the  road  after  the  coach  as  fast  as  a  pon- 
derous man  might  pound.  The  man  was  his 
unsuspected  passenger.  He  looked,  and  recog- 
nized, from  his  back,  that  it  was  Morder. 

Morder  gained  on  the  laboriously  moving 
coach,  overtook  the  coach,  climbed  by  the  strap, 
clambered  over  the  top ;  after  which  there  seemed 
to  be  some  confusion,  ending  with  Morder  and 
De  Marzi  toppling  headlong  to  the  roadside, 
locked  tightly  each  in  the  other's  arms.  When 
they  struck  the  ground,  one  of  the  two  bruised 
his  head,  relaxed,  and  was  limp.  His  antag- 
onist rolled  from  him,  got  to  his  knees,  and  felt 
for  his  knife,  while  the  women  in  the  coach 
screamed  anew. 

Derringer  was  there  before  the  murder  was 
could  be  done.  The  senseless  man  was  Morder. 
The  other,  with  knife  and  eager  to  end  it, 
was  De  Marzi. 

When  De  Marzi  turned  and  saw  who  had 
caught  his  wrist,  he  forgave  the  interruption, 


300  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

forgot  the  pleasure  of  stabbing  his  arch  enemy, 
and  his  dark,  devilishly  handsome  face  lighted 
with  welcome. 

"Oh,  the  gran'  fight!"  he  cried  affectionately. 
"For  wheech  I  have  so  long  wait',  ai,  ai,  the 
gran'  fight!" 

No  response  of  cordiality  mellowed  the 
hard  fixedness  in  the  American's  expression. 
Contact  with  this  Pandar,  though  the  contact 
of  blows,  was  loathsome  to  him.  The 
indignity  offered  to  Bess  was  unthinkable. 
Derringer  could  not  conceive  of  a  man  with  that 
stench  in  him  continuing  to  live. 

"Why  you  look  so?"  faltered  De  Marzi. 
Qualms  got  into  the  madcap  Lucifer  despite 
himself.  It  was  as  though  the  affair  were  set- 
tled already;  were  inexorably  predestined.  Of 
course,  he  laughed  at  himself  immediately.  The 
American  who  was  Fate  had  not  even  a  weapon. 
De  Marzi's  mirth  was  blithe  and  gay.  "Ai,  by 
Jurge,  you  still  like  the  fists,  eh?"  He  twirled 
his  dagger  in  air;  caught  it  by  the  haft.  His  was 
a  child's  happiness  in  cruelty  —  tearing  legs 
from  a  fly,  running  a  pin  through  a  captured 


BLAZE  DERRINGER  301 

toad.  In  anticipation  he  thrust  for  the  bowels, 
ripping  upward.  His  laughter  tripped  over 
delight.  He  drew  back  the  clenched  knife, 
threw  his  left  forearm  before  his  eyes,  and  rushed 
in,  giving  the  stroke.  ...  A  block  of 
granite  seemed  to  rise  and  crush  his  chin  back 
into  his  brain,  and  the  light  went  out  for  him. 
Derringer  stood,  nursing  the  knuckles  of  his 
fist. 

From  the  coach  there  stepped,  not  the  Senorita 
nor  yet  the  Dona  Pepita,  but  that  loyal  and 
guileful  woman  who  did  the  marketing,  and 
behind  her  the  Senorita's  maid. 

"Oh,"  excitedly  laughed  the  woman  who  did 
the  marketing, "  did  you  not  know,  Don  Eduardo, 
that  the  Senorita,  she  is  back  there  with  the 
senor,  her  papa,  and  with  them  Dona  Pepita 
also,  all  three  so  happy  together,  they  take  a 
walk  in  the  woods ;  and  while  we  two  in  the  coach, 
we  are  so  miserable  being  carried  away  to  the 
Senor  Presidente  that  we  scream  and  scream, 
so  that  Major  De  Marzi,  he  thinks  he  has  the 
Senorita  certainly.  Oh!"  she  rattled  on,  "I  am 
so  sorry,  Don  Eduardo,  you  waste  a  so  gallant 


302  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

rescue  on  us  poor  servants,  for  a  rescue  so  ele- 
gant is  befitting  only  for  ladies,  but  I  will 
explain  to  the  Senorita  that  you  meant  it  for 
her  —  so." 

'You  need  not  bother,"  said  Derringer. 
"These  two  burglars  are  only  stunned.  What 
shall  we  do  with  them?" 

The  woman  had  knelt  beside  one;  was 
kneeling  beside  the  other,  feeling  for  heart- 
beats. She  looked  up.  "The  favour,  Senor  — 
but  your  automobile,  what " 

"No  gasolene,  that's  all,"  said  Derringer. 
"But  there  are  extra  cans  of  it  here.  Why  ?" 

"The  favour,  then,"  the  woman  pleaded  in  a 
furtive  whine,  "to  return  in  the  automobile  to 
the  Senorita  and  the  others.  We,"  she  added, 
"this  girl  and  I,  will  follow  shortly  in  the  coach. 
I  can  drive  that  little  distance." 

Derringer  pointed  to  the  two  senseless  men. 
"You  mean,"  he  said,  "that  you  are  going  to 
kill  them?" 

"Oh,  no,  senor!"  the  woman  laughed  easily. 
"  They  plotted  the  blackest  harm  to  my  darling, 
the  nina  Bess,  but  no,  senor,  I  will  not  harm 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  303 

them.     I  wish  but  to  give  them  the  chance  to 
save  themselves." 

Derringer  was  still  suspicious.  "Very  well, 
then,  I  will  stay  and  watch  you." 

'You  will  interfere  ?"  protested  the  woman. 

"No;  not  if  you  are  telling  the  truth.  If  you 
leave  those  two  men  in  a  way  to  save  themselves, 
I  shall  not  interfere." 

'You  sacredly  promise?" 

"On  my  word  of  honour." 

"Then,  Don  Eduardo,"  said  the  woman, 
"watch,  for  you  may  be  amused." 

More  than  once,  though,  he  all  but  stopped 
her.  Aided  by  the  girl,  she  dragged  the  two 
bodies  from  the  road,  left  them  on  their  backs, 
a  few  feet  apart,  and  began  binding  them  with 
ropes  and  straps  that  she  found  in  the  coach. 
Obviously,  she  intended  to  leave  them  there  to 
die  of  starvation  and  thirst.  But  she  shook  her 
head  at  that,  and  brought  provisions  from  the 
coach,  including  several  bottles  of  wine,  and  laid 
them  near  her  victims. 

"But  why  tie  them  down?"  protested  Der- 
ringer. "  They  can't  eat,  tied  down  like  that." 


304  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

"  Wait  but  a  minute,  but  only  a  minute,  senor," 
the  woman  whined. 

She  stretched  out  their  arms  as  though  they 
were  laid  on  a  crucifix,  and  she  drove  stakes 
and  strapped  their  wrists  to  the  stakes,  and  then 
it  was  that  Derringer  really  appreciated  human 
ingenuity.  By  working  one  hand  from  the 
wrist  and  using  his  fingers,  Morder  might  un- 
buckle the  strap  that  bound  De  Marzi's  wrist; 
after  which,  De  Marzi  could  release  himself. 
Vice  versa,  De  Marzi  might  perform  the  same 
service  for  Morder.  But  it  was  quite  impossible 
for  either  man  to  do  that  thing  for  himself. 

"The  poor  caballeros!"  sighed  the  woman 
with  humility.  "I  will  revive  them;  a  little 
brandy  to  the  brow,  and  a  drop  between  the 
lips  —  so.  Their  eyelids  begin  to  flutter.  When 
they  are  quite  revived,"  she  said,  "we  will  go, 
for  we  have  not  the  time  to  wait  and  see  that 
which  will  happen." 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-FOUR 

THE  Derringer  yacht  turned  up  her  nose 
to  the  stars  and  dipped  it  in  the  warm 
bosom  of  the  wave,  and  so  kept  the  scent 
northward  across  the  Caribbean.    Lifting  to  the 
swell,  as  though  skimming  by  wings,  and  breast- 
ing down  again  —  long,  slender,  white,  buoyant, 
she  was  like  a  pilgrim  of  hope. 

"Chief,"  young  Derringer  spoke  earnestly  to 
his  father  on  the  quarter-deck,  bridging  his  legs 
from  his  wicker  chair  to  the  rail,  "I  shouldn't 
have  left  you  for  so  long."  A  curving  sweep 
of  his  hand  fore  and  aft  indicated  the  yacht 
"I  —  I  really  am  distressed  at  this  extrava- 
gance." 

The  old  man  gravely  took  it  under  considera- 
tion. There  was  something  wholesome  and 
satisfying  in  bandying  chaff  man  to  man  with 
your  own  son.  He  was  still  relishing  the  treat 
he  had  given  himself  in  surprising  the  boy  with 

305 


306  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

his  exquisite  plaything  for  man  and  boy,  the 
beautiful  new  yacht.  "Really,  Eddie  ?"  meekly 
queried  the  old  man. 

4  *  Must  have  taken  a  heap  of  odd  change, 
dad,"  remorselessly  pursued  Eddie,  getting  up 
and  going  to  the  rail.  Old  man  Derringer  winked 
to  himself,  for  Eddie  was  gazing  forward,  to  a 
certain  stateroom  door  that  opened  on  the  deck. 
The  stateroom  was  the  owner's  own  cabin,  and 
the  occupant  of  the  stateroom  now  was  the 
owner's  guest  of  honour,  the  princess  of  Sylvan- 
litlan.  She  and  her  aunt  and  her  father  and 
her  father's  rescuers  were  bountifully  enjoy- 
ing old  man  Derringer's  hospitality  between 
the  ports  of  Punta  Tempestad  and  Derringer, 
Texas.  "Odd  change,"  repeated  Eddie,  bor- 
ing it  in. 

"Seems  to  me,  Eddie,"  gently  drawled  the  old 
man,  "we  had  a  sort  o'  bet  two  years  ago  about 
that  very  thing." 

"Time's  not  up,  yet,"  protested  the  boy. 
"Got  a  few  days  left,  you  know." 

*  'Bout  how  much  o'  the  five  thousand  can 
you  show  so  far?" 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  307 

"Eleven  dollars  and  fifteen  cents,"  said 
Eddie.  "Maybe,"  he  added  hopefully,  "you'd 
like  to  play  a  few  hands  of  freeze-out  on  the 
way  up." 

The  old  man  did  not  smile.  There  was  a 
twinkling  flash  under  the  rusted  eye-lashes,  that 
was  all.  Eleven  dollars  to  win  five  thousand! 
The  boy,  he  realized,  had  been  taking  just  such 
odds  wherever  and  whenever  they  offered. 
That  was  the  manner  of  boy  the  wire-fibred  old 
Texan  was  beginning  to  know  as  his  own.  He 
started  to  reply,  when  the  boy  interrupted. 

"No,  dad,"  he  said.  "I  won't  play.  You 
might  —  well,  you  know,  might  try  to  let  me 

win.  And  besides "  He  stopped,  again 

gazing  forward.  Besides,  the  game  would  rob 
him  of  possible  chances  of  talk  with  her.  A 
birthright  was  a  trifle  compared  with  such 
chances.  Absent-mindedly  he  strolled  off  for- 
ward, passing  the  door  of  the  owner's  cabin, 
and  old  man  Derringer  was  left  alone  to  con- 
template the  stars. 

He  was  not,  however,  left  so  for  long.  There 
came  to  him  one  of  his  guests,  Don  Pedro  de 


308  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

Las  Augustias.  There  was  something  on  Don 
Pedro's  mind,  and  he  came  to  speak  it  all  out. 

"Senor,"  he  began,  and  though  he  was  all 
that  was  courteous,  even  deferential,  yet  there 
was  a  note  of  haughty  belligerency  in  his  digni- 
fied tones,  "sen or,  I  think  you  will  agree  with 
me  that  it  may  be  as  unfair,  even  as  ungenerous, 
in  a  creditor  to  decline  to  accept  payment  of  a 
debt  as  for  a  debtor  to  refuse  to  tender  such 
payment.  Do  you  not  —  that  is,  under  certain 
circumstances,  senor?" 

"Bless  me,  Don  Peter,"  exclaimed  old  man 
Derringer,  "is  that  a  Castilian  riddle?'* 

"Not  at  all,  my  friend,  not  at  all.  Your 
son " 

"Beg  your  pardon  and  all  that,  Don  Peter," 
the  Texan  broke  in  warningly,  "but  that  boy  o' 
mine,  you  know,  is  his  own  man.  He's  been 
learnin'  how  to  be  for  the  past  two  years.  By 
the  way,  maybe  you've  happened  to  notice  him 
learnin'  some?" 

"Nevertheless,  I  hoped  that  perhaps  your 
influence " 

"There,  mind  you,  he's  enough  chip  off  the 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  309 

old  block  to  be  an  old  block  himself.  But  any- 
how," Derringer  conceded,  seeing  how  troubled 
the  stately  Don  Pedro  was,  "anyhow,  let's  hear 
what's  the  matter." 

"These  three,"  said  Don  Pedro,  "the  man 
Slag,  the  man  Jenkins,  and  Don  Eduardo,  your 
son,  entered  into  an  agreement  with  me  whereby 
they  were  to  effect  my  release  from  prison  for 
a  stated  sum  of  money,  one  hundred  thousand 
dollars,  to  be  divided  equally  among  them." 

"Well,  well?"  said  the  Texan,  his  shaggy 
brows  bunching  together. 

"Ah  so,  the  work  was  performed,  a  marvel- 
lous feat,  senor,  as  you  hear  me  repeat.  The 
man  Slag,  the  man  Jenkins,  they  each  con- 
siderately take  their  share  of  the  agreed  money. 
But  Don  Eduardo,  your  son,  senor  —  ah," 
said  the  courtly  hidalgo  with  a  grimace,  "I 
dreadfully  feared  the  young  caballero  wanted 
to  fight,  senor,  when  I  so  boldly  tendered  him 
his  share." 

The  shaggy  brows  smoothed  themselves  out. 
"  Go  on,  go  on,"  said  the  old  man  jovially. 

"Go    on?     Why,    there  —  there    is    nothing 


310  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

further.  Here  is  the  check,  if  you  —  you  could 
prevail  on  your  son  its  acceptance/* 

"And,"  laughed  the  elder  Derringer,  "have 
him  want  to  fight  me,  sir?  Now  by  the  way, 
Don  Peter,  you're  not  knowin'  prob'bly  that 
when  the  boy  refused  that  there  — "he  leaned 
over  and  with  his  finger  touched  the  figures  on 
the  check  —  "he  was  actually  refusing — how 
much  you  suppose?  Five  hundred  thousand; 
a  half-million  dollars,  sir!" 

"Eh,  senor,"  Don  Pedro  rallied  him  smilingly, 
"what  of  Castilian  riddles  now?  Is  yours  an 
American  one?" 

"Maybe  Texan,  I  don't  know,"  returned 
Derringer,  a  little  impatiently.  "But,  anyway, 
about  two  years  ago  I  put  up  five  thousand  dol- 
lars for  a  young  spendthrift  of  my  acquaintance 
to  learn  the  world  with.  Then  the  little  rascal 
wanted  to  bet  me  he'd  bring  that  much  back 
with  him  when  the  two  years  were  up.  Of 
course,  I  bet  him.  I'd  do  anything  to  get 
some  sense  of  responsibility  into  his  improvident 
red  head.  The  odds  were  way  ag'inst  him;  so 
I  just  naturally  tried  to  balance  off  the  odds 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  311 

by  agreein'  to  tack  two  ciphers  on  to  the  five 
thousand  in  case  he  won.  Tack  'em  on  for 
yourself,  Don  Peter,  and  see  what  they  make. 
Five  hundred  thousand,  eh  ?  And  what  does 
he  do  ?  lie  comes  back  with  eleven  dollars  and 
fifteen  cents,  me  furnishing  the  transportation. 
Well,  I  don't  know,  eleven-fifteen  ain't  so  bad 
for  Eddie.  Yet,  just  the  same,  that  check  o' 
yours  there  made  out  in  his  name  would  instantly 
grow  into  a  half-million.  All  he'd  need  would 
be  to  own  it  for  a  half-minute,  long  enough  to 
let  me  see  it.  Still,  as  you  say,"  chuckled  the 
old  man,  "he  won't  take  it,  will  he?" 

Don  Pedro  sighed,  yet  his  chest  was  swelling. 
"The  days  of  the  grandees  may  be  gone,"  he 
murmured,  "  but  do  you  know,  senor,  I  am  happy 
to  be  alive  this  day.  .  .  .  Of  course,"  he 
went  on,  "you  who  are  so  proud  of  him,  you  will 
not  permit  that  he  lose.  You  will  pretend  for 
a  time,  and  laugh,  and  then  give  him  the  half- 
million.  Is  it  not  so?" 

For  a  moment  the  old  Texan  looked  at  his 
guest  through  half-shut  lids.  "Don't  you  think 
it,"  he  said  at  last.  "Why,  Don  Peter,  I'd  as 


312  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

soon  think  of  accusin'  him  o'  playin'  the  baby 
act." 

Don  Pedro  toyed  with  the  check  in  his  hand. 
"The  lad  has  earned  it,"  he  said  wistfully.  "If 
only  he  would  accept  as  a  gift.  It  is  not  pay- 
ment. For  what  he  has  done,  there  is  nothing 
I  can  give  that  would  repay." 

"Hold  on  there,"  drawled  old  man  Derringer. 
"Don't  go  to  bein'  too  discouraged  all  of  a  sud- 
den about  not  bein'  able  to  repay.  You  might 
have  a  chance  yet,  providin'  my  old  eyes  see 
what  they  see.  Look  here  a  minute."  He  took 
from  his  pocket  a  promissory  note,  with  the 
word  " cancelled"  written  across  the  face.  It 
was  the  note  that  Blaze  Derringer  had  given 
Slag,  to  hold  Slag  to  their  adventure  in  the 
rescue  of  Don  Pedro.  The  jailbreaker  had  sur- 
rendered the  note  to  the  elder  Derringer,  though 
it  was  cancelled  automatically  when  Don  Pedro 
paid  Slag  the  consideration  stated  therein.  Don 
Pedro  studied  the  paper  long  and  earnestly. 
For  a  time  he  was  hopelessly  puzzled.  Why 
should  a  young  man,  a  stranger,  hypothe- 
cate a  large  sum  of  money  to  insure  his,  Don 


BLAZE   DERRINGER  313 

Pedro's,  release  from  prison?  Then  slowly, 
very  slowly,  his  brow  began  to  clear. 

"Bless  me!"  he  sighed.  "I  think  my  eyes 
also  are  now  opening." 

Old  man  Derringer  jumped  to  his  feet.  "Use 
them,  then,"  he  whispered  excitedly,  pointing 
into  the  yacht's  half-lighted  saloon.  "Look, 
there  they  are  now!" 

Both  old  fellows  stared.  Within  the  salon, 
beside  the  open  piano,  were  a  boy  and  a  girl.  Her 
hands  held,  caressed,  one  of  his.  His  face  was 
turned  from  her,  and  an  agony  of  renunciation, 
or  what  in  a  lover's  phantasy  he  mistook  for 
renunciation,  was  written  in  every  line.  "Bess, 
Bess,"  he  was  saying,  "don't  you  under- 
stand, dear  ?  It's  because  I  think  too  much  of 
you  —  so  much,  dear  heart,  that  I'm  afraid  for 
you  —  afraid!" 

"And  I?"  she  sobbed,  thrillingly  indignant. 
"I  want  what  I  want,  and  I  take  the  risk.  .  . 
Oh,  my  dear,  I  love  you  so!"  and  she  flung  an 
arm  around  his  neck,  and  drew  his  head  down 
and  put  her  cheek  to  his. 

Don  Pedro  folded  the  check,  and  replaced  it 


314  BLAZE   DERRINGER 

in  his  pocket.     He  sighed  heavily.     "  My  chance 
to  repay,  you  were  saying?     But,   senor,   this 


is  —  is  —  usury,  sir! 


" Jehosaphat,  Don  Peter!"  cried  old  man 
Derringer.  "Why,  you  weren't  reckonin'  the 
young  rascal  would  let  you  off  cheap,  were 
you?" 


THE    END 


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